"It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. I do not think that he has quite got over his surprise at finding you established here. You are alone in the world, you have no one save yourself to consider. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one.
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