It was past seven when she got back to her hotel. Katy had sneered at her for a moment, their eyes locking. He passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking into her face. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets. Sorrows and danger and disappointment she had known. The young man had knocked over the siphon.
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