His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. There was no way to warn her of his presence without startling her. . The contest, however, though desperate, was brief. He backed away from her. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed.
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