There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. To lose was death, quickly and mercilessly delivered.
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