Stanley and his sister into a taxicab, and had waved an amiable farewell from the pavement steps. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it.
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