“There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. “How do you feel?” she asked. “Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. DeSoto, seemed to notice her thoroughly. 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. ‘I don’t know that I dare. The tension was palpable.
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