Austin could scarcely credit his senses when he beheld him. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. Her clock had stopped—stopped at the very hour on which she had quitted the Mint! She had not the heart to wind it up again. I’ve thought that out, and you must make up your mind to it. “I do not blame him. . Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food.
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