See paragraph 1. When he was up and about, the idea of flight would return. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. She thought of the smiles she would gather when she brought forth his first grandson. Almost the best of all. The third time she escaped she reached the inconsequent barricade of the overturned table. He had been quite right to sit down. Here he set down the lamp, and took out a key, and as he did so the expression of his countenance was so atrocious, that Jack felt assured he was not wrong in his suspicions. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold.
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