But this revulsion was engulfed by the succeeding waves of pity and understanding. She is no longer mine; she is yours. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. That’s how it takes me. Only three days. Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression. ‘Now, madame, tell me all about your life in France.
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