Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. ‘You can’t go to England. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. They are rather a long way off, but you could write to them. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. She took the initiative and guided his fingers inside her and bore down.
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