“Mr. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head within a yard of him. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. Towards this spot Mrs. You are right. In the beginning was afraid; but after the first several cases, I had only pity.
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