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play propriety for Dick and Esther.
Before the phaeton had driven off, the girl had entered the
station and seated herself upon a bench. The endless, empty
moorlands stretched before her, entirely unenclosed, and with
no boundary but the horizon. Two lines of rails, a waggon
shed, and a few telegraph posts, alone diversified the
outlook. As for sounds, the silence was unbroken save by the
chant of the telegraph wires and the crying of the plovers on
the waste. With the approach of midday the wind had more and
more fallen, it was now sweltering hot and the air trembled
in the sunshine.
Dick paused for an instant on the threshold of the platform.
Then, in two steps, he was by her side and speaking almost
with a sob.
'Esther,' he said, 'have pity on me. What have I done? Can
you not forgive me? Esther, you loved me once - can you not
love me still?'
'How can I tell you? How am I to know?' she answered. 'You
are all a lie to me - all a lie from first to last. You were
laughing at my folly, playing with me like a child, at the
very time when you declared you loved me. Which was true?
was any of it true? or was it all, all a mockery? I am weary
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