Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. In the discussion there was the oddest mixture of things that were personal and petty with an idealist devotion that was fine beyond dispute. She had adored the stupid thing, and kept it in her pocket for about ten years. " "Bring your story to an end, Sir," said Trenchard who had listened to the recital with mingled emotions of rage and fear.
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