It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. But you shall swing, rascal,—you shall swing. Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again.
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