“How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. She laughed a little contemptuously. She gave her lips to his without resistance. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been.
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