Later, when they returned home, she would serve as the topic of many conversations. He was beginning to think about her inordinately. His literary instincts began to stir. Michelle looked at their reflections in the wall mirror. “The one who used to live at Lyndmore. ” Lucy replied. . At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep. She sat herself upon the bed. Sleep did not come easily, but eventually her mind stopped its chattering and she fell into a deep slumber. Gerald kicked the panelled wall in frustration. . At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice. Like a petulant child he snapped.
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