You’ve got me. “I do not know you,” she said coldly. . The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. Manning came into her thoughts again, an unexpected, tall, dark, self-contained presence at the Fadden. Again having recourse to the centre-bit,—for Winifred's door was locked,—Jack had nearly cut out a panel, when a sudden outcry was raised in the carpenter's chamber. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. For the first time it occurred to Ah Cum that the young man might not be quite conscious of his surroundings, that he might be moving in that comatose state which is the aftermath of a long debauch.
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