He felt her relaxation and let go of her wrists. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter.
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