But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared. Something drew you. She winked at him as he shut the door. You need have no apprehensions about him, Sir Rowland. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release.
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