” “There’s Miss Garvice. That is my way, my dear. The arrival of the cart at the end of Field Lane, appeared the signal for an attempt at rescue. He became angry. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands.
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