The atmosphere was 46 strained and deathly quiet at the dining room table. " "I am calm—quite calm, Rowland," she answered, with lips whose agitation belied her words. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter. He did not particularly care. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping.
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