“I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. ‘Obsessed, that’s what you are. I need only just jump up and throw myself upon you. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. ” He looked at her very gravely. The Well Hole.
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