” She drove off in a little fiacre, nodding and smiling at Sir John, who remained upon the Avenue. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. She did not have to investigate that his door was locked. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear.
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