" "Oh, no,—no," replied Mrs. Ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. When he faced Spurlock, the granite was cracked and rived; never had Spurlock seen such dumb agony in human eyes. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life.
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