She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire. She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. Around her neck was a little gold chain. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. "I've just recollected that my husband left a key with me, which he charged me to give you when I could find an opportunity.
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