"Of course, I haven't the least evidence that the boy has done anything wrong; it's what I'd call a hunch; piecing this and that together. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. Then she cursed herself for his eyes went to the letter and came back to her face.
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