The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. None at all. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. And that would spoil it. His eyes caught at hers with passionate inquiries. What is it? Good God!” An unhappy little smile parted her lips. She turned a resolute face southward. “Often,” he repeated, a little heavily.
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