Part 5 The next morning she waited in the laboratory at the lunch-hour in the reasonable certainty that he would come to her. “It is not that. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. "Can't you guess?" returned Winifred, throwing her arms about her neck. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. She hid behind a mirage of piety, just as I do.
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