At last, he got into a lane, but had not proceeded far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse's tread. “But don’t you know about me?” he said at last. I'll go alone. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. She did this to please him. I don’t.
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