They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. And then she came out into the street, sure only of one thing—that she could not return directly to her lodgings. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. ’ ‘It cannot be helped now. The white haze of poison clouded her eyes. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. But about his unknown rival he was acutely curious.
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