” “It was a delightful piece of good fortune that I should have met you,” he answered. It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. Plote was sleeping or deaf. Drummond patted him on the shoulder. She loped forward on unnaturally long legs and arms that swung loosely. To-night all this may seem hard and cruel.
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