It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. He hated horizons. White, who held out her hand and beamed a welcome upon him. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. E. I was standing near Jack at that awful moment, and beheld the look Wild fixed on him.
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