Explore "The Dumpling" by Coulson Kernahan on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
At Charing Cross, soon after the defeat and dispersion of the rebels, I had caught sight of a face which set my heart beating wildly -- the proud, pale face of Kate, who was sitting at the window of a hotel. Sending up my name, I was at once admitted, Kate clinging to me, and crying over me, as if I were a soldier returned from the wars.
"I won't leave you again, darling," I said, "no matter what you or your aunt may command or urge. How is that kindest of friends of mine?"