Part 2 The next morning was as dark and foggy as if it was mid-November instead of early March. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. "It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. I feel almost inclined to regret the fact. It was in her eyes—the big thing that comes but once.
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