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" "My negligence, Mr. ” 200 < 25 > MEETING MARTIN CHEN She tried out for the Lincoln High orchestra on a whim. ‘Aye, that she was. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. 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. ” “Ay,” he repeated, looking away from her. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. My friend the doctor suspected it, and so do I. I knew him in spite of his dress.
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