She tried to appear as if she had never been questioned before. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. “I want to be your friend,” he said. .
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