When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. In her case the barrier was not selfishness but the perception that her interest would be misinterpreted, naturally. Like a nightmare memory that returned again and again to haunt her. If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. ’ He sat up. .
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