She had killed him. M. Courtlaw—Lady Mackinnor. "'T is he!" he mentally ejaculated. It occurred to her that it was absurd and wrong to be so continuously thinking of one engrossing topic, and she made a strenuous effort to force her mind to other questions. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. Rather would I have gone with Leonardo—and he wished me to do so. . Indeed, she did not want to think of him as loving her.
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