She was already a little prepared by her discursive reading and discussion under the Widgett influence for ideas and “movements,” though temperamentally perhaps she was rather disposed to resist and criticise than embrace them. He had nothing more to say either to her or to Spurlock. They were suddenly thrown aside, and a man stepped out from his hiding-place. A young man with shiny frock coat and very high collar, advanced towards her languidly. ‘Perhaps I could indeed rescue you if only you would confide in me. I didn’t understand. Drenched to the skin,—in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,—and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. But his words were borne away by the driving wind. But you couldn't.
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