The couple reappeared from behind the curtains, both visibly shaken. That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness. She heard him come in; the light burned on. . . . But it seemed that their presence was not even suspected. An inarticulate instinct which now found expression.
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