She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears. She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. The asylum was approached by a broad gravel walk, leading through a garden edged on either side by a stone balustrade, and shaded by tufted trees. “But you do not know,” she whispered, “whether I am a married woman or not.
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