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Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. CHAPTER XVII. Be frank, I beg you, Miss Pellissier. 1 through 1. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. Though he walked by the side of the governor, he seldom exchanged a word with him, but appeared wholly absorbed in the contemplations inspired by a broadbowled Dutch pipe. It was the same Bios whose nature and drift and ways and methods and aspects engaged them all. The stranger turned his head at the sound. For hours after she had not been sensible to life, only to exquisite echoes.
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