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In the floor were set four ring-bolts, about nine feet apart. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. There were two of them. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. ‘Do not say such things, you—you imbecile. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself.
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