“Before I met you I was deluded into receiving upon friendly terms a man named Hill, who passed himself off as Meysey Hill the railway man, but who was in reality an Englishman in poor circumstances. Then she saw the bodies piled in the corner. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired. “I have just ordered a carriage for her. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself.
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