She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. He had chosen his time well. He glanced up. ‘So now we come to it. ‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone. "Women are always balling up and muddling clean cases. As far as I can, I belong to them all. My wife doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand now.
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