E. Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. About nine o'clock, an immense mob collected before the Lodge at Newgate. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. “I am in love with you. Out of an old family album: here was the very comparison that had eluded him. It's a sorry world," he went on.
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