" "My God!" cried Trenchard, stunned by the intelligence, "I have killed her. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. ‘I do not believe you. Seems you were right about Valade. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict.
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