“Good evening, Dorling,” he said. She went to a writing-desk and made some memoranda on a sheet of note-paper, and then remembered that she had no address as yet to which letters could be sent. It is so ridiculous. ‘My God!’ he said, ‘I’ll go after them and kill him. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock.
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