Martin came to the door, looking radiant and relieved. ” She whispered. If it came at all, it was as fleeting as the girl's smile. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew.
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