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He knew she had been weeping. Wood turned over to obtain a more comfortable position. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. “Why didn’t you come back? Lucy, I needed you to come back, just once. His mouth was sensuous but his eyes became frenetic.
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