The lady murmured briefly to her husband, and then tucked her hand into Alderley’s arm. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. I am not a madman, or a pauper, or even an unreasonable person.
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