"Miss Scully, is it you?" he says, at length; "and here at this hour?",
Mona looks at him. How oddly he has expressed himself! "You won't," he said, instead of "you wouldn't." Does he then deem it possible she will ever be able to cross to that land that calls him son? She sighs, and, looking down at her little lean sinewy hands, clasps and unclasps them nervously.,
"Oh, it is dreadfully late!" says Mona, with much compunction. "Come, let us hurry.".
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