"I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill. “Life—things—I don’t think her prospects now—Hopeful outlook. It seems to me very silly. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. She can't last long. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. And Rollo, who had been waiting for some encouraging sound, presented himself at the doorway.
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