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Somehow logic could not explain her. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. "I half suspect this is a highwayman," thought the Jew; "he's so ready with his cash. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. " "Ja," answered Van Galgebrok. Not my affair, of course, but I think we ought to teach them more or restrain them more. Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby.
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