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She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. There was a coffee equipage on the table, and some sandwiches, and the fire had been recently made up. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. It isn't your duty. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. “It is in your hands from now on, Shar. "Won't you be persuaded, Joan?" he added, making a similar offer to Mrs. “Compromise—and kindness.
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