Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. ‘I knew it. You have set out to do something which is neither God's way nor man's. She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears.
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