8. ‘The wretch said nothing to anyone. Eight per cent. Do you see why I have hidden the terrible things from you? I chose you because you are my perfect mate. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. Kneebone said, just now. A neat tale, giving little away. She stood on the mat instead, and looked down on him. She began by being interested in his demonstrations and his biological theory, then she was attracted by his character, and then, in a manner, she fell in love with his mind. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. Traci moved out to L. " "And all the time you loved her?"—appalled.
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