And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. ” “But it is too late,” she declared. “You are magnificent,” she said, “but the steel of your truth is a little oversharpened. ” The redness in his face betrayed him. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. There was a recurrence of fever, but nothing alarming. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. ” He demanded as she opened her eyes and stopped moaning.
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