‘Your mystery lady, I mean. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change. “Last time I saw you,” he reminded her, “you spoke, did you not, of obtaining some employment in London. For his own part he could not sufficiently admire the pluck of this lady, who, notwithstanding all that she had been through, had chosen to appear this evening rather than break her engagement. “Let us put the lamp out,” she said; “the flames are ever so much better for talking,” and Ann Veronica agreed. All sorts of battered tramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. ” Lights went on inside the house on the upper level. Her heart swelled to suffocation.
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