She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. When she tried to speak she found it difficult. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. Her heart failed her and her resolution became water. I’ve more than twice your strength and at least ten times your cunning, when it’s needed. He spoke the automatic thought that entered his mind.
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