” “I’m sorry. " Silence. " "Are you Mr. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. She ought to be softened and tender and confidential at this phase of her life.
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