“Does he live here?” he asked her presently. My letters are returned unopened, her maid will not even allow me across the doorstep. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. You are nothing of the sort. As she came in this morning she saw that the lamp was still burning in the study; so she stopped at the door.
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