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Entering the workshop, he found the blacksmith occupied in heating the tire of a cart wheel. ” “Not yet,” he said. And so Winifred understood him. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. A long chest under one of the windows was open, some of its contents dragged out and spilling onto the floor. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. From where had he come, and why? An author! To her he would be no less interesting because he was unsuccessful. “What made you marry him? What made you leave Paris without a word to any one? What made you and your sister exchange identities?” “There is one answer to all those questions, Nigel,” she said, with a nervous little shudder. " "You do not remember me, I dare say," observed the stranger.
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