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and Mrs. I don't want her hurt. I’m sorry I ruined dinner. She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy kicking this man to death. He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create. He turned his back on that temptation. I’ve no name for it yet. Directly in range stood the strange young man, although he was at the far side of the loft.
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