” Courtlaw suddenly interposed. “I will send you a copy,” Mr. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. She had resisted as long as she could; then she had stolen over. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation.
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