The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. " "My God!" cried Trenchard, stunned by the intelligence, "I have killed her. You know that, and I know that, though we might be put to it to find a reason why. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. ‘I can see why you lost your place, young Kimble. He would always be her friend, too. “I throw it out in passing,” he said.
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