I care not. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. For what she lacked in appearance, Sheila compensated in gossip. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. Sometimes I tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single glimpse, a moment’s revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the mystery of primaeval nature. "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. Be a good wife to him. ‘You are there.
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