With a moment of inward shame he remembered his deportment towards Anna. ‘But what is it that amuses you, Jacques?’ Kimble’s grin spread wider. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. But I see now. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it.
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