. . It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. He had done this a dozen times on the way from his office. Where is he, Sir? Can I see him?" "No, that you can't," answered Mrs. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. He succeeded so well that they were almost in Montague Street before Anna stopped short.
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