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Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. It lay undisturbed in the remotest corner of the recess. Then she had a baby and became as old as any really grown-up person, or older, and very dull.
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