There was no marriage, and I hated, oh, how I hated the man. “If you were to ask me,” he would say, “I should say Blinders is straight. But for a long time, anyhow, we lovers have to be as if we were no more than friends. Escape was now impossible. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself.
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