I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. ’ ‘And you do not know me. ‘I’ve finished me report, sir,’ Trodger said aggrievedly. She had worn a long skirt that morning, and a roomier sweater that was slightly easier to handle than Shari’s low cut numbers. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. It wouldn’t be you.
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