That night, she hunted the alleyways of the old town. "Come! I see the storm has blown over," cried Winifred, brightening up. "You have lived over here?"—astonished. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. “I am afraid,” she answered, “that one’s friends can judge only of the externals, and the things which matter, the things inside are realized only by oneself— stop.
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