“I was sick of the make-believe. Wherein she differed but little from her young sisters. Gosse was backing towards the table. Got detained in the City, and——” Then he met the fixed, breathless gaze of those wonderful eyes from the other side of the table, and he, too, broke off in the middle of his sentence. "Your sympathy is being wasted. The two lovers sat together, and their sole discourse turned upon Jack and his ill-fated mother.
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