She hated living like that. " "That's frank enough," the doctor admitted astonishedly. " "Indeed!" said Shotbolt. She cursed herself for a fool. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her.
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