“Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me. She did her best to do this. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. I didn’t get it, why she put on the innocent act.
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