There she would wander about in the kindly darkness. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. She closed her eyes as if asleep, her hands folded neatly on her abdomen. " "Odd's me! do you think so?" cried the host of the Trumpeter. The boy was right. " "Never mind it, my dear Mrs. Hogarth," remarked Jack, dejectedly. For a few minutes all was silent. She felt smaller and more adventurous even than she had expected to feel. With a strong tendency to satire, but without a particle of malice or ill-nature in its display. The sounds of the seashore infiltrated her dreams as she floated in heavenly bliss of sleep. It's certain. It was from Brendon. I would be too 222 busy protecting you.
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