My father died a year ago, by the way. “No, I mean that we should assemble ourselves in case your parents arrive home. ‘Léonore, then?’ She shook her head animatedly, enjoying his attention. She was in excellent spirits, and it was not until she had taken off her hat, and was considering the question of dinner or no dinner, that she remembered that another day had passed, and she was not a whit nearer being able to pay her tomorrow’s bill. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below.
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