‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. Afraid, no doubt, he thought grimly, that her other visitor would leave. “All your dreadful scientific things?” he said, with a smile that Miss Klegg thought extraordinarily kindly. A man came out, and walking recklessly, almost cannoned into Ennison. She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste. "Of yourself," he replied, in a mournful tone. He was a little impressed by Ann Veronica’s metaphor of the string, which, indeed, she owed to Hetty Widgett.
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