The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. Her hair was held back in a filigreed barrette. " "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. “You are of the genus obstinate,” he said. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door.
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