“My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. “It—it—must come,” she faltered. “Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move. Whatever happened she need never return to that possibility. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. Come!” They went out together and he called a hansom.
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