“Solitary walks?” “That’s the point of them. A new restlessness seemed to have stolen in upon her. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man’s shoulder. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. From under his pillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly.
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