It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. He had been baptized there. “Then we must try and make London endurable for you,” he remarked cheerfully. “Happened! Oh, many things,” she declared indolently. Poor young lady! She trembled too, and was unable to give her evidence. But it was her proof. Why not kill her here, and leave silently, the way he must have come? Could it be that he had not the intention to kill her? En tout cas, it gave her a chance. Her prevailing effect was one of quiet and complete assurance, as though she knew all about everything, and was only restrained by her instinctive delicacy from telling what she knew. Such pretty manners, she thought. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy.
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