And that would spoil it. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. Before Marthe will become impatient and come out. . I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought.
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