He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. Go away now, there’s a good lad. “I wish this hadn’t turned up to-day of all days. I am guilty practically of the impertinence of coming to ask you whether I misunderstood your sister.
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