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For some time he could not stir, but felt sick and exhausted. “I killed him. A riding-habit is all I have seen. Never really thought about Him—people don’t. ” They went on for a time without another word. And she buried herself beneath the straw, which she tossed above her head with the wildest gestures. ” She controlled a sob. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. ” She was silent. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess.
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