’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. What might it have been?’ Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts. Her father and her husband, who had both been a little pale at their first encounter, were growing now just faintly flushed. “My friends,” she said, “my dear friends, I am going to make the same answer to all of you—and that is perhaps you will say no answer at all. "It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone.
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