“They were sent to me by Mr. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. . There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. He grabbed her legs and threw the covers from the bed. “It’s funny, the way a good house feels. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little. It isn't for their sakes, it's for your own. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped.
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