I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. "Sir Rowland must be gone. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her.
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