” She turned her face to the fire, gripped her hands upon her elbows, and drew her thin shoulders together in a shrug. "You cannot understand me, Madam; and it is well you cannot. 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. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice.
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