Spurling, "I hope he may never see Tyburn. The old-fashioned dress, with its series of ruffles and printed flowers, ballooned treacherously, revealing her well-turned leg in silk stockings, as it snapped against her body as a mould. 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. Understand once and for all that that answer is final. Every drop of blood in her body glowed and expanded. His bodily suffering, however, was nothing compared with his mental anguish.
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