“So that’s the way it is. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. How did you get into this house?’ He shrugged. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought.
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