” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. . Norris says she's dying. In a sense I don’t care. Forgive me. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. I'm burning up. I hope I may never come near her. If you ride past the church, and mount the hill, you'll come to Neasdon and then you'll not have above half a mile to go.
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