“It’s a new phase in the life history,” he remarked. But then he began to take steps, and, at last, strides to something more and more like predominance. She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. He's worth a dozen of you. I keep on thinking of you. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. ’ ‘So I infer. "Oh!" she gasped.
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