Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. She prevaricated. “We are clerks in the same bank. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. ’ ‘Success?’ Her eyes narrowed.
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