Sheppard despairingly. I did not know what I was saying. She stuffed her violin in its case and rushed into the hallway towards John, who stood outside of 118 with his arms crossed. In another minute, the tramp of horses' feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage had effected their escape. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. .
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