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court of the hotel, and Isabel could make out the masses of
the furniture, the dim shining of the mirror and the looming
of the big four-posted bed. She stood still a moment, listen-
ing, and at last she heard Caspar Goodwood walk out of the
sitting-room and close the door behind him. She stood still
a little longer, and then, by an irresistible impulse, dropped
on her knees before her bed and hid her face in her arms.
228 The Portrait of a Lady
