He felt her relaxation and let go of her wrists. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. "You mustn't talk any more; the excitement isn't good for you. Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched her come in, I watched her go. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. He bowed awkwardly to Mrs.
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