’ Roding gave a bark of derisive laughter and left the room. Your life is like a funeral March. ” She spat in his face. He carries with him something that will mark him anywhere—the girl. Could she understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class carriage and the ordinary fellowtravellers were not there. She felt him sometimes at night as he called to her in her dreams. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. It was now a quarter past twelve.
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