“I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. “I have never yet met a man whose intellect I could respect. If she had once known him, if he were some former neighbour, it would be comprehensible. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair.
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