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She fixed her eyes upon it and ran, keeping always as far as possible in the shadow of the hedge, gazing fearfully every now and then down along the valley for the white smoke of the train. I am quite sure that I do not know you. My wife—killed me. I undid his coat, and I took it from his pocket. That can be very useful, that. She pulled the trigger. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself.
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