"Why it is astonishing, certainly," remarked Kneebone, "to find any woman constant—especially to a girlish attachment; but such is the case. But I'm sure it's important. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. Her face expressed nothing. They talked for the better part of an hour, and at last walked together to the junction of highroad and the bridle-path. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. His arms slipped around her waist as they were on the doorstep and he kissed her lips sweetly. CHAPTER I. And empty.
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