"This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. The black, meantime, began to ply his hammer, and speedily unriveted the chains. It was past seven when she got back to her hotel. I spent this afternoon in detention.
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