A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. For all that, it is folly. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. He was pretty successful in Manchester,—a town which may be said to have been the head-quarters of the disaffected.
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