Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. Something in his tone pinched her heart. Her features are the same, yet the change has written its mark into her face. So, very carefully, he raised her in his arms and carried her to her bed. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. I suppose it depends on her own state of mind. What of it?” There was a shout of laughter. It had neither succumbed to her nor wrathfully overwhelmed her. She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. I should have known at a glance if it was.
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