The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. At this moment she was staring ahead; and again came the opportunity to study her. After all, Hilary must be near returned by now. "There's nothing in his clothes. "Yes, your son, Madam. "Here!" shrieked Lady Trafford. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally.
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