And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. 192 Her skirt had ridden almost to her hips. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. I wrenched this off, and in an envelope addressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls. “You are coming in, aren’t you, Sydney?” “If I may,” he answered.
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