She refused coffee, though she knew that anyhow she was doomed to a sleepless night. Spit of your mother. Those who had seen him slumbering, averred that he slept with his eyes open. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. Keep your eye upon the lad.
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