He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. " "You can give me a little of his history, can't you? Something about his people?" "Oh, his folks were all right. They had as many designations as grades. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. The man himself was not a pleasant object. “Won’t you tell me why you have come to England?” she said.
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