After knocking for some time at the door without effect, he tried the latch, and to his surprise found it open. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. Giving him a wide berth, and keeping her pistol high, she made her way to the door and warily peered through it. A failure! She must write herself down a failure! At her age, with her ambitions, with her artistic temperament and creative instincts, she was yet to be denied all coherent means of expression. ‘It is nothing.
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