CHAPTER XXIX. The shape of the head, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she had never before looked upon closely. I was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child—an innocent child. Saw the villain through the keyhole. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already.
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