"I give you one minute for reflection. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. "He's about to cross the river. I would not have him know—now—for the world. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. And life is much the same, whether taken in battle, on the couch, or by the road-side. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. The darkness prevented the carpenter from discerning the features or figure of the stranger; and the ceaseless din precluded the possibility of holding any communication by words with him. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. Go to her.
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