On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. Presently she became aware of footsteps hurrying after her, and glanced back to find Miss Klegg, a little out of breath, in pursuit. I know faces. ‘Do you think I do not know? What am I doing here, do you think?’ ‘That’s just exactly what I’ve been asking myself,’ he returned. It probably still wouldn’t help. .
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