It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. “So far you’ve got me and I you. Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen. ” She realized it was possible to be sorry for him—acutely sorry for the situation.
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