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’ ‘I presume you were not with her in France?’ Kimble stared. But I do not know you at all, in truth, and I do not understand why you do this. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. His eyes were fixed upon her face, but he opened his lips twice before he spoke. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally. “I am only sorry that I did not ask you to go with me. ” Her passion conquered for a moment her fear.
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