She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. ‘How is this? Proo-den-ss. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. The babies that the woman—your wife—refused to stop creating. The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. ‘You and Jarvis Remenham both, yes. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. Quick, now.
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