He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible. "I opened the padlock with this crooked nail, which I found in the floor. The pieces fell to the ground in a little white shower. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie. ” “To a friend?” “To lodgings—alone. Gwen made an inquiry, and, directed by Mrs. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out.
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