CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. One called her very distinctly “My dear!” Two secretarial posts did indeed seem to offer themselves in which, at least, there was no specific exclusion of womanhood; one was under a Radical Member of Parliament, and the other under a Harley Street doctor, and both men declined her proffered services with the utmost civility and admiration and terror. It’s not a bit of good pretending there’s any Higher Truth or wonderful principle in this business. Wait a moment. Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. ’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. She perceived that his countenance was only composed by a great effort, his features severely compressed.
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