Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. I have—run away. Her eyes flashed and she withdrew the dagger, pulling away from him. She confided in me yesterday. “I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?. Was not Gerald altogether on her side? He was, even though he played games like an imbecile, a person tout à fait sympathique as she had discovered at the outset.
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