He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Twenty guineas, mind. "I've just recollected that my husband left a key with me, which he charged me to give you when I could find an opportunity. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks.
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