’ The questions that had long haunted her came out at last. Another long interval elapsed. “I am afraid,” she answered, “that one’s friends can judge only of the externals, and the things which matter, the things inside are realized only by oneself— stop. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. There was no need of sowing suspicion when he wasn't really certain there were grounds for it. “If you say so, Lucy. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. The major hailed him with a show of relief. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back.
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