" "True," replied the widow, upon whom all the terrible recollections of the day before crowded, "I know it isn't. He kissed her neck, moving down to her breasts, trying to consume her with passion. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound.
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