It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. His looks were fixed on his old benefactor. The world into which she was so boldly venturing was going to be wonderful, but never so wonderful as the world within these paper covers. Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. Sara Darnell was a sprightly, svelte twenty-five year old who was known for serving detentions at meter maid frequency, if only to be taken marginally more seriously by the predominantly male Lincoln High Science Department. It might be upset. He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door that led into the chapel. The two aunts of these young ladies lived for many years in the dower house upon my estate in Hampshire. “It is not possible,” he exclaimed.
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