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She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. “We will take it then,” he said, “that you have refused or ignored one request I have made you this morning. Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept. Someone had thoughtfully wrapped a bit of tissue paper round the electric bulb. And, when I have seen him pining away before my eyes, getting thinner and thinner every day, I have sometimes thought my prayers were heard. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. He had not considered this aspect of the business.
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