“And yet I do it without compunction. She was slender, and sometimes she seemed tall, and walked and carried herself lightly and joyfully as one who commonly and habitually feels well, and sometimes she stooped a little and was preoccupied. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. One day she awoke and he was cavorting about underneath the covers. " "By Heaven!" cried Kneebone, with increasing fervour, "it is true—as true as my affection for you. ” He shook his head.
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