He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. Years ago I marked out an intinerary for myself; but the trip never materialized. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. Ennison,” she exclaimed, “is that really you?” There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. Only au revoir. Distress like hers might palliate far greater offences than she ever committed.
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