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Courtlaw, who was sitting by the bedside, bent over him. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. ‘C’est ridicule. “I don’t think our engagement can go on,” she plunged, and felt exactly that loss of breath that comes with a dive into icy water. "Stay!" said Jonathan, aiding his descent; "you had better take my lantern.
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