Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes. But it never said: "Tell someone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then? Was it what he had lost—the familiar world—rather than what he had done? He stared dully at the footrail. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. And I get myself dirty. She could not analyse what was stirring in her: the thought of losing the doll, the dog, and the cat.
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