He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. “I want to ask you a question,” she said abruptly. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. "Stop thief!" roared Jonathan. He meant to take her out of this room, perhaps even out of the house. Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory.
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