A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. I’m not Gerald, remember. We will find some way out of it. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands.
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