The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. “I believe after all it’s coming out!” said Miss Stanley. Jack had brought away the bunch of keys which he had taken from Quilt Arnold, but, none of them would open it. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs.
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