Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. The Night-Cellar. On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. She turned quickly. ‘What else do you expect? It’s the penalty you pay for marrying an Englishman. She saw herself building up a life upon that —a life restrained, kindly, beautiful, a little pathetic and altogether dignified; a life of great disciplines and suppressions and extensive reserves. ‘It must be painful. . If she was in a position to help him she would help him; only it happened to be the other way round. CHAPTER I.
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