No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. She felt terrible lying to him. He was asleep when Jonathan entered, and growled at being disturbed. Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. “I do not know you,” she said coldly. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven.
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