He walked her home. She knew blood was rushing to his face and other places as well. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. “I confess it. He was snoring stupidly. “I think we are growing sensible,” he said. I acted in plays, I studied philosophy, mathematics, and science. Why did he take me?’ Martha’s damp eyes were puzzled.
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