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he classroom quietly, conscious that we had been brushed by the wing of a great feeling, though perhaps I alone knew Cleric intimately enough to guess what that feeling was. In the evening, as I sat staring at my book, the fervour of his voice stirred through the quantities on the page before me. I was wondering whether that particular rocky strip of New England coast about which he had so often told me was Cleric's patria. Before I had got far with my reading, I was disturbed by a knock. I hurried to the door and when I opened it saw a woman standing in the dark hall. 'I expect you hardly know me, Jim.' The voice seemed familiar, but I did not recognize her until she stepped into the light of my doorway and I beheld--Lena Lingard! She was so quietly conventionalized by city clothes that I might have passed her on the street without seeing her. Her black suit fitted her figure smoothly, and a black lace hat, with pale-blue forget-me-nots, sat demurely on her yellow hair. I led her toward Cleric's chair, the only comfortable one I had, questioning her confusedly. She was not disconcerted by my embarrassment. She looked about her with the naive curiosity I remembered so well. 'You are quite comfortable here, aren't you? I live in Lincoln now, too, Jim. I'm in business for myself. I have a dressmaking shop in the Raleigh Block, out on O Street. I've made a real good start.' 'But, Lena, when did you come?' 'Oh, I've been here all winter. Didn't your grandmother ever write you? I've thought about looking you up lots of times. But we've all heard what a studious young man you've got to be, and I felt bashful. I didn't know whether you'd be glad to see me.' She laughed her mellow, easy laugh, that was either very artless or very comprehending, one never quite knew which. 'You seem the same, though--except you're a young man, now, of course. Do you think I've changed?' 'Maybe you're prettier--though you were always pretty enough. Perhaps it's your clothes that make a difference.' 'You like my new suit? I have to dress pretty well in my business.' She took off her jacket and sat more at ease in her blouse, of some soft, flimsy silk. She was already at home in my place, had slipped quietly into it, as she did into everything. She told me her business was going well, and she had saved a little money. 'This summer I'm going to build the house for mother I've talked about so long. I won't be able to pay up on i
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