" "We shall expect you to-morrow," insinuated Mrs. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. “Will you say what you have to say, please, and go. He was tall and straight, and his expression was good. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. She would not sleep for fear of losing a moment of that sense of his proximity.
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