He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. He had reacted by laughing at her, informing her coolly that she was naïve in many things. Marvel. ’ ‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come.
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