On regaining his breath, he began to consider whither chance had led him; and, rubbing his eyes to clear his sight, he perceived a sombre pile, with a lofty tower and broad roof, immediately in front of him. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. . ’” “Yes?” “I think—yes, I went on in a pleasing blend of the casual and sotto voce, ‘The fact of it is, sir, I happen to be your son-in-law, Capes. Kentish family. You know nothing of life, nothing of its dangers, nothing of its possibilities. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. The horror of those few minutes was still with her. “I hope you realize,” he went on, in a lower and less assured tone, “that I am in earnest—very much in earnest.
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