13 with a latchkey went humming lightly up to her room. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. And it filled seven sheets of notepaper, each written only on one side. Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere.
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