Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. . She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. And not only so, but that it was after all, a more systematic and particular method of examining just the same questions that underlay the discussions of the Fabian Society, the talk of the West Central Arts Club, the chatter of the studios and the deep, the bottomless discussions of the simple-life homes. "The only disguise I ever put on is a dress-suit, and I look as natural as a pig at a Mahomedan dinner. She would write to Gerald. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. “Manning,” she said, and contemplated a figure of inaggressive persistence.
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