"All cannot be well, if this is true. ” Her heart had warmed toward him. “Are you in a hurry? Will you come in and have some coffee?” He hesitated, and glanced towards her companion. Probably he has something to say and can't say it, or he writes well about nothing. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. ’ ‘Yes, but I do not wish to have a mystery.
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