“How did you find me?” He asked. " "Silly love stories?" "No; love wasn't the theme. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. "I dare say she has called to inquire about Jack. Indignation carried her through that night, that men and the world could so entreat her.
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