“My sister and I,” she said slowly, “have seen very little of each other lately. ” “Because your nerves were exposed, that was no excuse for my touching them. He saw her young and graceful back as she descended from the carriage, severely ignoring him, and recalled a glimpse he had of her face, bright and serene, as his train ran out of Wimbledon. She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. “What have I done, Miss Pellissier?” he pleaded. Here, where every element of her surroundings was tawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin and appearance, it was striking.
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