She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion. He has always plenty of evidence in reserve. He’s waiting. Earles remarked genially. She wrapped a leg around him. But, when the sound of the carriage-wheels died away, and he felt that she was actually gone, his resolution failed him, and he rang the bell violently. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion.
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