She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. She regarded the young man coldly. She attended to that, and then dismissed it as unimportant. Kneebone. Beside me on Anna’s table was a pistol.
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