‘You can’t prove nothing. She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do was to pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats. Stanley. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. Time after time he reminded her of how powerless she would be without him, how unkind the world was towards single women. And she found herself able to do nothing of the sort.
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