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 she murmured. &quot;That is the very reason that prevents his speaking.&quot;

&quot;The reason?&quot;

&quot;Your knowing what he thinks and his knowing that you know.&quot;

Mrs. Peyton was startled at her subtlety. &quot;I assure you,&quot; she said, rising, &quot;that I have done nothing to influence him.&quot;

The girl gazed at her musingly. &quot;No,&quot; she said with a faint smile, &quot;nothing except to read his thoughts.&quot;

reached home in the state of exhaustion which follows on a physical struggle. It seemed to her as though her talk with Clemence Verney had been an actual combat, a measuring of wrist and eye. For a moment she was frightened at what she had done—she felt as though she had betrayed her son to the enemy. But