Spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfaction otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected husband. ” “Are you in a hurry,” she asked carelessly. “Only it is much too late for you to be out alone. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again. That, I think, is manifest. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it. Someone was coming out of the house. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world.
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