He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. Fortescue in the drawing-room, and actually shake hands with him in an entirely hopeless manner and hope everything would turn out for the best. From then until four in the afternoon there was nothing to do—the whole island went to sleep. I didn't think. Many other expedients occurred to her; but after making several ineffectual attempts to get into the Mint unobserved, they were all abandoned. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget.
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