His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was—London. ‘Tell me what you know of Miss Charvill?’ he ordered severely. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood.
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