“It’s my fault. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. ” He saw her into the train at Waterloo, and stood, a tall, grave figure, with hat upraised, as the carriage moved forward slowly and hid him.
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