A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines. Apparently I’m not to exist yet. It was not only that her father had said all sorts of inconsistent and unreasonable things, but that by some incomprehensible infection she herself had replied in the same vein. CHAPTER III. ‘Don’t be silly. Or appeared to do so.
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