Winter came at the manor. “Julian, I don’t want to get married!” She blinked in 119 disbelief as she saw how hurt he was by her reply. His own peculiar genius—a miracle key to the hidden things in men's souls—had given him this immediate and astonishing illumination. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. His hands came up, his face broke apart.
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