” There was genuine interest in her eyes now. ” Michelle looked puzzled. He used to live in a boarding-house in Russell Square. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. Cut to pieces —slashed—bloodied.
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