Yet the fact remains that you do not understand me at all. “Before this there was a sort of restraint—a make-believe. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. " "You might trust me," said Rachel, in an offended tone; "but never mind.
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