The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall. I went to her rooms to-night. She stuffed her violin in its case and rushed into the hallway towards John, who stood outside of 118 with his arms crossed. It frightened her to behold her heart and mind thus laid bare; but the chapter following would reassure her. He said the place had gone to wrack. “My dear Miss Pellissier,” he said impressively, “this is an unexpected pleasure. “Yes,” she answered, looking away. "You must take it to Sir Rowland Trenchard's in Southampton Fields. Go for it. “I have no wish,” he said, “to altogether ignore the fact that you are my wife’s sister, and have therefore a certain claim upon me. Let us be gone. There’s no logic in these things.
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