"Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. “Let’s go home. Her situation was perplexing her very much, and the Widgett atmosphere was lax and sympathetic, and provocative of discussion. The vestry door opened to the mews behind, and not to Golden Square. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky.
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