” “And such a beast of a one,” Sydney remarked vigorously. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. “Mr. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me. “I am exceedingly sorry,” he said. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. Each time that we meet I try to kill you. I loathe this room. I don’t know what has come over me.
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