The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. . She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. "I should be sorry to persuade him to do anything his calmer judgment might disapprove. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. ‘I do not know your Gérard.
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