"Hist!" cried Rowland, arresting his comrade. Wood, would preclude the possibility of his remaining with his new friends as long as his inclinations prompted. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. In all her life no living thing had had to depend upon her, not even a dog or a cat.
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