Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to her grandmother. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. Her faculties seemed for a moment numbed. Wood scarcely knew where he was. “Why should it matter?” he said. " "That I will," replied Jack, "in the twinkling of a bedpost. "Here is my purse; and I trust you will let me know to whom I am indebted for this important service. "All cannot be well, if this is true. ’ ‘Damn you, I should have beaten you,’ Gerald swore, holding fast to his corner of the little square of linen. You're in luck to-night, widow. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself.
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