And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it. 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. You are without sense and not sympathique in the least. She walked for a mile or more recklessly, close veiled, with swift level footsteps, though her brain was in a whirl and a horrible faintness all the time hovered about her. After that consolations fled. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. At the Palazzo she had been confined to her own sunny windowed quarters most of the time, but she had the entire run of the inside of the manor. ‘I hope I do not understand you. But for him she might have been alive and happy.
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