“Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. It was not your fault you failed. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. Had she too been flying from something and had accepted this method of escape? But what frying-pan could be equal to this fire? All this led him back to the original circle. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor.
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