“I know you very well by sight, Sir John. ” The figure of her aunt, a little distant, a little propitiatory, behind the coffee things, filled her with a sense of almost catastrophic adventure. But his grief was of short duration. Above her head was an aura of white fire. You were pointed out to me at—a few nights ago. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. ‘I am far from imagining anything of the kind.
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