“I find it very hard to write this letter. She dare not risk it. If one wants a thing very much, perhaps one is inclined to think one can’t have it. You are the one person I can understand and feel—feel right with. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. ’ ‘The what, miss?’ asked Kimble, frowning. He resumed his listening. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whisky and a friendly American bar-keep to talk to. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like,’ he repeated blankly. It was a pity people had to eat food.
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