Her cheeks were aflame. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. “He is not—I don’t like him. All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. Supper was over. What does he do these three days?’ She had come daily to the vestry, hoping to meet the lad and hear his report. “You shall drive home with me in a hansom, if you will.
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