Very slowly, very fearfully, she turned her head. "Don't weep, my love," replied the lady, straining him still more closely to her. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. He appeared to be a stranger to the prisoner, and the sole motive of his visit, curiosity. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington.
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