" So saying, he re-entered the house, closed the door, and, followed by the widow, proceeded to the fire-place, where a handful of chips, apparently just lighted, crackled within the rusty grate. ‘That—that—why do you speak of him?’ ‘Because I feel you ought to know,’ Gerald said calmly, but rising and watching her closely, ‘that all your trouble may be in vain. ” Her reverie broke, and she found herself still in front of the looking glass, a barrette hanging loosely from her hair. She raised this with the air of a conspirator unmasking, and displayed a tear-flushed face. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. ” She taunted. I will do my utmost. I was worried.
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