All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. ’ Leaning down, she raised the hem of the petticoat of her habit to reveal a neat little pair of boots on her feet. Let me lie in Willesden churchyard. And now I find, when it is too late, that I might have deserved you—that I am as well born as Thames Darrell. She looked at it with a little shudder, but she made no motion to take it. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. I’ve got no feminine class feeling.
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