She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face. When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. But Jack did not heed them. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. He replied, \"Want to go sit down somewhere?\" \"Sure. She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy kicking this man to death. This time you cannot. "Poor thing!" muttered he, as the widow departed on her errand, "she's seen better days and better circumstances than she'll ever see again, I'm sure.
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