Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. And he, her lawful husband, dared not go to her and console her! Accursed—all of them— Enschede, Ruth, and himself. And how can I get into one brief letter the complex accumulated desires of what is now, I find on reference to my diary, nearly sixteen months of letting my mind run on you— ever since that jolly party at Surbiton, where we raced and beat the other boat. She got pregnant. Let me keep him.
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