The two lovers sat together, and their sole discourse turned upon Jack and his ill-fated mother. “Now I should like to know,” she said, looking at him with a quiet smile, “what you are doing here? It is not a particularly inspiring neighbourhood for walking about by yourself. She never knew what became of her farmer after that. There’s always friction, conflict, unwilling concessions. ” There was silence between them. But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that. “I never planned it—And now I have begun—” She felt acutely that he was entitled to explanations, and as acutely that explanations were impossible that night. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow.
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