What might it have been?’ Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still. You belong to me, and I have waited long enough. It's certain. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. CHAPTER XVI.
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