They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. She was shaking violently when she entered the side door of the house. "Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. She seemed to grow more beautiful to him and not the opposite. No great lover of state or state costume at any time, he was generally, towards the close of an evening, completely in dishabille, and in this condition he now presented himself to his subjects. Give me the keys and the light. But I don't understand her; she's over my head.
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