Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. Loneliness. The body of Sir Rowland was then laid on the large table. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. ” She laughed heartily, and became as suddenly grave.
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