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e contracted, at least as to the preliminary stages, under the eaves of this or that church. The vestibule was crowded this Sunday evening, as was customary, when Aurora Lane, quite alone, turned in from the sidewalk and ascended the eight broad wooden steps up to the church door. Passing thence to the inner door, she felt the silence which came upon the boys and young men who loitered there, waiting for the entrance or the exit of those of the opposite sex. She felt the stares which fell upon her--felt, rather than saw, the icy disapproval which greeted her even here, even among these. But she passed by, entered the house of worship, and sank into a seat very far back in the long, bare, ghastly, rectangular room. Before or after the entry of Aurora Lane, there failed not in coming those who sit in judgment upon the lives of their fellows--the baker, the butcher, the school teacher, the hanger of paper, the maker of candlesticks as well. All these were here, parts of the life of this community. Miss Julia was not there, as Aurora Lane discovered. She wondered dully if it had not been her duty to go around to the library and ask for Miss Julia; but the longing for personal solitude had been as strong in her heart as the longing for silent human companionship, so she had come alone. In truth Miss Julia was recreant tonight. She was alone in her own room--alone with her diary--that is to say, face to face with the picture of the same man whom Aurora Lane had met that afternoon. In the slowly filling pews there reigned now silence, broken only by the shuffling footfalls of the arrivals, that uneasy, solemn silence which holds those seated and waiting for the services at church. A school teacher who was born in the East somewhere leaned her head forward on the back of the seat before her, and with a certain ostentation prayed, or seemed to pray. Others would have done this very fetching thing as well, but lacked the courage, so sat coldly, stiffly, unhappily, bolt upright, awaiting the arrival of the minister. The tenor came after a time, soon following the soprano, models alike of social graces and correct attire. They passed modestly, seemingly unregardful of the glances bent upon them. The bass singer was more conscious of his ill-fitting clothes as he hurried up the aisle, his Adam's apple agitated, betokening his lack of ease. The soprano by this time was shaking out her curls, fussing among the music sheets at t
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