"You have killed him," cried Winifred in alarm. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. Think of those days in Paris. She could not say a word, much less move. ” She watched his face as he traced his way through these speculative thickets. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger.
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