“Violence won’t do it,” said Ann Veronica. Wood, with a candle in his hand, which Jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs. “Michelle, I think that you are the victim of an extremely overactive imagination. And if one were to love some one very much, it’s just so that one would be blindest, just when one wanted most to see. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you.
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