The tall, blond boys, right?” “That’s them. “It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. His own peculiar genius—a miracle key to the hidden things in men's souls—had given him this immediate and astonishing illumination. " At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. "That's odd.
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