She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. The Well Hole 336 XIII. " "Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly. She looked steadfastly out.
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