He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. "But we'll find a way to make you open your lips presently. Look at these walls. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. Immeasurable disgust possessed her. They've heard quite enough for my purpose," he muttered, as his orders were obeyed, and the domestics excluded. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. “I won’t have you quarrelling and crying in the Avenue,” he said. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow.
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