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The knife is at my breast. I had that coming. But the cases were not identical. ‘I should have thought it was obvious. The very sight of these impediments, would have appalled a less courageous spirit than Sheppard's—but nothing could daunt him. To his astonishment and delight it yielded to the pressure, toppled over the ledge, and sank. ‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion. She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash. She recalled him. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. I told you that at the outset. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief.
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