Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. You are afraid—that here in London—I shall not be a success. Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it. She yielded it without protest, as though unconsciously. There was a wall; she was always encountering it; the one time she was able to break through this wall was when the part in his hair was crooked.
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