She was reasonably certain why. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a fool of himself. ” “Every one hasn’t the Gift. " "And were I in yours," rejoined the woollen-draper, "I should be doubly apprehensive, because he's a professed friend. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger.
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