“I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. I know not who you are; and, as I cannot discern your face, I may be doing you an injustice. “My God!” he said at last, with tremendous feeling, and then again, “My God!” Now that this thing was said her mind was clear and calm.
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