That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Besides, I thought you despised killing women. How could he have betrayed her so cruelly? How could he lie and claim her as dead? Sebastian studied her carefully as she refused to cry and became like a pillar of stone. Terrific shouts were raised by the rabble, who threatened to tear Wild in pieces if he showed himself. I wonder what it was.
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