Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. You don’t know what you’re saying, and I hope you never will. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. We all get deceived sometimes. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. I've sent for the priest. You yourself, I am sure, recognize how impossible you have made it for me now to do anything of the sort.
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