If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him. Always. His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. Yet before she turned once more to resume her flight she schooled herself with an effort to look where it had happened. Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia. “Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly. .
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