” She slipped on her cloak and stepped into the hansom with him. We come out into the world, some of us—” She paused. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. One Friday afternoon, in this pleasant month, it chanced that Mr. But it never said: "Tell someone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then? Was it what he had lost—the familiar world—rather than what he had done? He stared dully at the footrail.
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