It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. " At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional.
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