She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. "But this need give you no uneasiness," pursued Jonathan; "Mrs. Understand me. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. When I went I was refused admittance.
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