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Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. The world, perhaps, will be educated out of its idea of fixed standards. "Utterly," reiterated Jack, gloomily,—"as regards all I hold dear.
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