He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. One Friday afternoon, in this pleasant month, it chanced that Mr. This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex. ’ The sergeant’s air became positively avuncular. Her mind left her. “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. Twenty-one, twenty-two. She remained on guard.
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