Loving was better than that. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. So I dare say I was christened Jack. The image did not move. While I am talking about your friends, I feel—I think you ought to know how I look at it. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. She had once reconciled in her mind that she was happy as long as she had him.
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