” 209 Clotilde was no fool. ” With a murmured word of excuse she glided away, and Courtlaw, who had come with a mission which seemed to him to be one of life or death, was left to listen to the latest art jargon from Chelsea. The comments on the makeover lessened but were replaced by long admiring glances by boys who had never before given her the time of day. "Always plenty to spare. Blood, they say, won't come out. “It’s a way of avoiding explanations. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell.
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