The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. She acted as her mother had taught her to. . “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. I have taken bullets and lived, and even a silver one wouldn’t do much. Were I to let you go, you'd say I feared you.
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