The delay was only momentary. Save us!" he cried, as his glance accidentally alighted on the drawing, which Winifred had dropped in her agitation. He began to tell me something—and stopped. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. Then I assumed a rather portentous manner to prepare him. "As long as you please, Sir," answered the matron, dropping a curtsey. She would ignore him.
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