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The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. And how can I get into one brief letter the complex accumulated desires of what is now, I find on reference to my diary, nearly sixteen months of letting my mind run on you— ever since that jolly party at Surbiton, where we raced and beat the other boat. Nevertheless, relief washed over her, her body rejoicing in the afterglow of twenty years of tension released.
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