This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. . And you’re as clean as fire. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly.
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