He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. “Oh yes,” said Miss Klegg; “I thought every one knew. That’s probably true. But when she saw the car, her body filled with dread, for it gave her a bad feeling. Only she hadn’t. She was finally dead, going to Hell. At last, he got into a lane, but had not proceeded far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse's tread. "Now, let's see who'll dare to take him down," she cried. " So saying, he scrambled over the rubbish, and got into the chimney.
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