As I dressed I listened for a sound from the adjoining room. All was
quiet now. The poor restless ones were at last getting a little rest.
A few minutes afterwards I passed on tiptoe through their room without
looking towards the bed, and reaching the door to the staircase I opened
it as noiselessly as I could.
Then I closed it softly after me, on so much suffering and so much love.
ONE HUNDRED AND SECOND CHAPTER
The sun was shining in the street. It was one of those clear, clean,
frosty mornings when the very air of London, even in the worst places,
seems to be washed by the sunlight from the sin and drink of the night
before.
I was on my way to that church among the mews of Mayfair to which I had
gone so frequently during the early days of my marriage when I was
struggling against the mortal sin (as I thought it was) of loving
Martin.
Just as I reached the church and was ascending the steps, a gorgeous
landau with high-stepping horses and a powdered footman drew up at the
bottom of them.
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