’ Then she ran swiftly out of the library, calling out as her cavalier was almost at the front door. You may go back, Marthe. It was the first—and the last! At this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of Mr. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. Once again, he passed his hand over the surface and carefully noted all the obstacles. I couldn’t rest or eat or sleep.
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