When he came to a certain sentence in Brendon’s letter he stopped short and looked up at her. ” His voice rose and fell amidst the music and the singing of Tristan and King Mark, like a voice heard in a badly connected telephone. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing. It's precisely what such a simpleton would do. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. ‘I never met a rat what wandered about the place with a lantern, I didn’t,’ grumbled the old lodgekeeper aggrievedly. With people of that sort all sorts of things may happen. His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre.
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