That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. He seemed so clean anyway, his fair 215 skin, his light brown hair, there almost seemed to be no point. We were to live in some wretched London suburb. That is the dreadful truth. The couple reappeared from behind the curtains, both visibly shaken. People spoke of him everywhere as a young man of great promise, a politician by instinct, a keen and careful judge of character. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. You've nothing to do but to take possession.
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