You are to come home. You will go to London?” “It is necessary,” she answered. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. “Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. . "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate.
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