’ She had given nothing away. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. She further suspected that he might find a servant to dally with in the meantime, if he had not already. “I’m not a good woman. For most of a long and fluctuating night she was fairly confident that she would find work; she knew herself to be strong, intelligent, and capable by the standards of most of the girls she knew. Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. Our heads swim with the thought of being together.
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