She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. ‘Jacques?’ she called out, forgetting the need for silence. He made a movement toward her, and then recalled the circumstances of their last conversation in that study. “I think,” she said, “that I would rather not have anything to say about that man. I want him as my friend. My garden-close would be a better thing than that. “You will be so late. "Your hesitation convinces me he does," replied the widow. And then you can go home and think things over before we talk again. .
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