“We parted— that night the best of friends. “Sir John of course disapproves of me,” she remarked slowly. He could not tell by the look of her whether she was glad or sorry that presently she would be free. And not a worthy tome in sight. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. Left to Capting Roding, as he told me hisself, you’d be in prison this moment.
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