So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. " "Not now," returned Thames, impatiently.
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