He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. I wasn’t. Feel for the lock, and prize it open,—you don't need to be told how. “We may just as well have our talk afterwards,” she said, “and I need not keep poor Mr. Sheppard had been interred.
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