It is at the lodge that we stay. The petals have fallen—the red petals we loved so. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her. Nothing at all. She did not know Mr. Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest. “They might do you good,” she remarked. Returning to the churchyard, he walked round it; and on the western side, near a small yew-tree discovered a new-made grave.
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