Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. ‘I escape from a fate entirely misérable, you understand. ’ Roding started.
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