3. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. "Well, how goes it?" he asked. He shuddered. She wondered even at this late day how she had been able to hold her maddening curiosity in check. Still unconscious of anything he did physically. " The stranger said nothing, but hastily brushed away a tear. The note-passer lagged behind with her. “Don’t!” she begged. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone.
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