“How can you change people’s ideas if you have no power?” said Kitty Brett. She stood on the mat instead, and looked down on him. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. “Oh, yes,” the stranger remarked good-humouredly. She struggled not to be afraid. And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her. Her courage and her presence of mind had alike deserted her.
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