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Updated: June 14, 2025
He said it again now. And even if he could renew that strange power, to love, he could not love a woman who was not pure. He felt certain of that. He thought of the dead girl and of Mrs. Chepstow. But to-night he could not recall the dead girl's figure, face, look, exactly. Mrs. Chepstow's he could, of course, recall. He had seen her that very day.
Chepstow's voice when she said to him, "I don't feel such things this summer." Surely Nigel now echoed that note. An electric bell sounded. They returned to the concert-room. They stayed till the concert was over, and then walked away down Regent Street, which was moist and dreary, full of mist and of ugly noises. "When do you start for Egypt?" said Meyer Isaacson. "In about ten days, I think.
Don't you see what I mean?" They both gazed for a moment at the lonely woman. "There is, of course, a certain beauty in Mrs. Chepstow's face," the Doctor said. "I am not speaking of beauty; I am speaking of ideality, of purity. Don't you see what I mean? Now, be honest." "Yes, I do." "Ah!" said Armine. The exclamation sounded warmly pleased.
She carried over her arm the skirt of a gown, and she went into the room which communicated with Mrs. Chepstow's sitting-room. "Poor girl!" thought Nigel. "I wonder what's the matter with her." He went on down the corridor to the lift, descended, and made his way to the Thames Embankment. When the door shut behind him, Mrs.
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