A woman’s shoe lay on the threadbare carpeting. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. " "No; she accepts it," rejoined Jonathan, triumphantly. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. ‘Ha! It’s you, is it?’ He threw a glance at his two juniors.
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