“You did your best to kill me,” he said. "Under the table. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. You disgust me. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release. . To get behind that impenetrable curtain, to learn why she hated her island.
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