‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. " "Palliate them as you may," replied the widow, gravely, "they were faults; and as such, cannot be repaired by a greater wrong. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face.
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