There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. It was in this state that Mark McCloskey caught her. Rain changed to hail, then 154 sleet, then snow. She looked around her. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. ‘You are there. “I have come for an explanation,” she said.
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