He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. Another long interval elapsed. "Oh, nothing—nothing," returned Mrs. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly.
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