It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. He had barely said, \"Anytime,\" before she shut the door rather rudely in his face. Down under the incalculable selfishness of the penitent child there was the man's uneasy recollection of Judas. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. "Release him first—and I will disclose it!" cried Lady Trafford; "on my soul, I will!" "Speak then!" returned Rowland. ” She said to him as they walked past houses down the block. ‘Not but what it was near that before Jarvis died.
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