So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. I shall count it a privilege. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. ” He left the room, and she stood motionless, with flaming cheeks, listening to his retreating footsteps.
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