" Sir Rowland caught at a chair for support, and passed his hand across his brow, on which the damp had gathered thickly. She’s got a great imagination. He pushed her small hand into his jeans. She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. It tore her apart.
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