He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. He seemed years younger, and the arrangement of his tie and hair were almost rakish. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him.
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