“See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. "I couldn't bear to see you in it. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. As she came close, he took a pace forward and seized her from behind, one strong arm clamping her tight against his chest, the free hand seizing her about the mouth, stifling the cry that gurgled in her throat. He returned to attend the funeral.
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