For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. “Not at all. I’ve had enough of it. Footman or some such. " And she left the room with Blueskin, who very politely offered her his arm. Aware that he should incur the thief-taker's bitterest animosity by what he had done, the watchman, whose wrath against Quilt Arnold had evaporated during the walk, thought it more prudent not to hazard a meeting with his master, till the storm had, in some measure, blown over. The stairs creaked as Mark rushed down them. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. He never felt any need to explain himself. It has been a marvellous day—and I am going to England. He cherished her.
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