The evenings were dulcet and soft. She shrank from him as he gripped her hand more forcibly. " "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering. But it never said: "Tell someone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then? Was it what he had lost—the familiar world—rather than what he had done? He stared dully at the footrail. She would have to move on to a more lawless country soon, Mexico, Columbia, then cross the sea where she could eventually return to the chaos of Eastern Europe and the Russias.
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