It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. ’ He sighed, spread his hands quite in her own manner, and fluttered his lashes. She was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. It's a bad omen to be thrown near that door.
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