“You know I’m old-fashioned, Miss Stanley. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. On the cords being removed, he made a desperate spring at Wild, bore him to the ground, clutched at his throat, and would, infallibly, have strangled him, if the keepers had not all thrown themselves upon him, and by main force torn him off. How much Mary knew is a mystery. What other reason could there be? It’s more complex, but it’s better.
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