And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. Still, there certainly was something in the idea of a treaty. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. She searched for it for many days that stretched into weeks before she gave up. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers.
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