‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. Once they were on the move, Kimble seemed to find strength from somewhere. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. That was something in his favour. Queer old gentleman! The art of ignoring is one of the accomplishments of every well-bred girl, so carefully instilled that at last she can even ignore her own thoughts and her own knowledge. I could never make you understand. You’ve got me. You’ll never even see me again, for that 268 matter. She moved her hand off of his knee, deliberately slow.
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