He could lose himself for hours at a time. "There'll be a louder echo here presently," thought Jonathan. “Sooner or later, John, it will come to that. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. I’ve thought that out, and you must make up your mind to it. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets.
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