She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. Anything that might stir the sense of love And God has mocked me through it all. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing.
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