As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. Only a few weeks ago there was a bloody battle on the bridge there between the soldiery and the local police. It clicked and the bookshelf was once more intact. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. This was good. The necessity which had previously existed of leaving the ghastly evidence of the murderous deed undisturbed,—the presence of the mangled corpse,—the bustle of the inquest, at which her attendance was required,—all these circumstances produced a harrowing effect upon the young girl's imagination. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. . "Where is it?" "Are you the mother of this child?" inquired the person who had first spoken, addressing Mrs. ” He came and stood on the hearthrug close to her.
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