Part 7 Then one day a little thing happened that clothed itself in significance. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. “You are their friend, then?” “I am,” Courtlaw answered.
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