She was as pale as death, but she seemed to have lost the power of movement. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. "I'll be their substitute. She gained her room, and slammed her door and locked it as though she feared violence and pursuit. ‘I don’t want him having an apoplexy in this house. ’ The fury welled. His hair flew out from the sides of his head like black bats from a belfry, it was unruly and long.
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