What was the matter with the dress? She could not see. She had come to despise those who were fertile out of pure jealousy, but could not admit it to herself. On Saturday he went to that there Mr Charvill’s house. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative.
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