She looked at him, at the lean figure sunk in the armchair, at the dragged, infirm face, the blurred, owlish eyes, the expression of abject self-pity, of self-absorption. That was Robin.
The awful thing was that she couldn't love him, couldn't go on being faithful. This injured her self-esteem.
Life and Death of Harriett Frean
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May Sinclair
