To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. She knew she was a monster and so did they. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. No police officers or lurking storms were anywhere in sight. She repeated this breathlessly. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose. " "As for that, I don't say. " "Blessings upon him!" cried Lady Trafford, fervently.
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