She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. “Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. Her eyes seemed to be looking backwards. Here she walked more slowly, looking constantly at the notices in the shop windows. "' Instead of regarding him, Jack glanced over the iron bannisters, and measured the distance.
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