He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. I’m glad I did. Let me keep him. ’ ‘I’m not going to release you, so it’s no use complaining. Her tone was hoarse with passion. Such of his features as were visible were of coarse mould. ” She shook her head. ” “It wouldn’t be you either.
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