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He looked at her By this ti of

pity and horror He could look without flinching The fire had only burnt

the lower fra the features untouched; the

eyes still glowed under their scorched broith a look half-tender,

half-triumphant

It was as if they said, "See what it was you loved so much"

The little fool, tortured into wisdom, was that what she s Could it be that?

Yes, it must be She had sent for him, not because she wanted to see

him, but because she wanted hiht of her face had killed her husband's love; she had

supposed that it would do the saht of it? It was preposterous, of course; but it would

not have been Mrs Nevill Tyson's idea without some touch of divine

absurdity

But--could any other woman have done it? "See what it was you loved so

much" Poor little fool!

And he saw This was not Mrs Nevill Tyson, but it was the wo Mrs Nevill Tyson was an accident; it had nothing to

do with her Her beauty too? It was gone So was soain,

unwillingly at first, willfully at the end; but he kne that if for

one instant she had justified his skepticism he would have ceased to love

her It was the paradox of her purity, dimly discerned under all his

doubt, that had tormented and fascinated him; and she held him by it

still