The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. She could tell that he was leering at her. By this time, the churchyard was crowded with spectators, some of whom dispersed in different directions in quest of the other robber. But although startled and clearly afraid, there was no self-consciousness in her gaze and she was standing her ground. ” He said flatly. He glanced up. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. He's the only native I trust in these parts. "The end is the most beautiful in English literature.
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