His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. The woman I wanted was another man's wife. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. ‘No need to upset yourself.
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