“Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. ‘And I am thinking now that you may be very suitable. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. Somewhere you may stumble upon a clew to his identity. But it’s as you say. Without you I should never have recovered either health or reason.
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