He heard the struggle on the landing, the fall of the heavy body, the groan,—and excited almost to frenzy by his fears, he succeeded in forcing open the door. ’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. “I don’t see that his being a good sort matters. They leave them out of novels—these incompatibilities. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. She always dawdled, so it was easy. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. I didn't understand then, but I do now.
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