Her attenuated arms were crossed upon her breast; and her black brows and eyelashes contrasted fearfully with the livid whiteness of her skin. Her usual dignified reserve had availed her nothing. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. If you don’t think it would be a social outrage, perhaps I might walk with you to your railway station. “No, I am alone,” she answered. ‘Hollow. It is what I have done. “I will not have this slavery,” she said. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me.
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