“Our ways happened to lie together. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. A failure! She must write herself down a failure! At her age, with her ambitions, with her artistic temperament and creative instincts, she was yet to be denied all coherent means of expression. But the clearly definite thing was the ultimate escape. All at once she realised that Kimble had halted, leaning heavily against the wall. When younger, and in better health, she must have been eminently lovely; and there were still the remains of great beauty about her. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. Not if I read her aright. None presented themselves to save him from that return.
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