He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. Good-bye, aunt. He glanced up at the coachman. A nurse came hurrying up. What about your luggage?” “I could get a few of my things, at any rate,” she said. She had once reconciled in her mind that she was happy as long as she had him. She donned her gloves.
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