“Won’t you give me your address?” She shook her head. ‘Étes-vous Francais?’ Her eyes, he noted, followed from himself to Hilary and back again, but she did not speak. She found herself talking to Capes in an undertone of rational admission. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. Yes, yes; that was all very well in ordinary cases; but yonder was a soul in travail, if ever she had seen one. Kneebone's habitation, the shutters of which were closed, and knocked at the door.
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