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“Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. Everything seemed designed to unhinge the mind and make the cat wretched. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. Michelle looked at her pathetically. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment.

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