The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust. ’ He let her go. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. Instead of which, more than half an hour has elapsed. At least here she was safe. We have met before. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. "He has not the power—perhaps not the will to do so. It is impossible.
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