‘But of course. I feel a mixture of beast and uncle. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. The mere fact that he was there in the train alongside her, helping her, sitting opposite to her in the dining-car, presently sleeping on a seat within a yard of her, made her heart sing until she was afraid their fellow passengers would hear it. Quite right. It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that.
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