" "Curse your reward!" exclaimed Kneebone, angrily. Have you brought me a message from my sister? I understood, I believe, that she was seeing you last night. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. She could not stir hand or foot. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck.
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