‘That is the man who tries to kill me, but he wounded instead my servant. I loathe this room. ‘Will you let be?’ Instead she grasped his hand tighter. And I have seen work by his pupils myself that struck me as being—well, next door to shameful. Then he took the pulse. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony.
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