Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. She wasn’t well-liked really, I think people were jealous of her. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself.
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