The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. I have come to you for sympathy, perhaps for help. I could not dream of loving you. Your own safety—the child's safety—depends upon your candour. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. She was not a Christian woman.
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