Coming from the gloom of the passage, even the corridors seemed sufficiently illuminated for them to see their way. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. "Jack Sheppard's mother," answered the little girl, dejectedly; "she has brought a basket of eggs from Willesden, and some flowers for you.
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