He opened the drawer of the writing table. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. "It is open," replied the lady, rushing towards it, and springing through the outlet. "It's an odd-shaped one," rejoined Kneebone, examining it attentively. The faithful fellow will never leave me.
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