She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return. She would just have to show up and hope for the best. She further suspected that he might find a servant to dally with in the meantime, if he had not already.
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