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Updated: June 17, 2025
Out of her memories she had built up something to care for, something no more himself than she was the woman of his dreams; but with this difference, that she was clinging, woman-fashion, to the thing she had built, and he had watched it crumble before his eyes. "Will you promise to go and rest?" "Yes. If you say so." She was acquiescent and humble. Her eyes were soft, faithful, childlike.
And yet without conceit or vanity Truedale believed that Lynda felt for him what he felt for her. Never doubting that he could bring to her an unsullied past, she was, delicately, in finest woman-fashion, laying her heart open to him. She knew that he had little to offer and yet and yet she was willing! Truedale knew this to be true.
As he faced her, smiling and urbane, she noted woman-fashion the superfine quality of his linen, the perfection of every detail of his appearance, the grace with which he wore his clothes. His manner was gracious, even courtly. Yet there was about him something so relentless that for the first time she felt a quiver of fear. "If my father or Mr.
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