’ ‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace. “We are Mr. She could not explain in words why they disappointed her or that she was disappointed. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. “And yet I wonder whether the world ever held such another enigma in her sex. I didn’t understand. Indignation carried her through that night, that men and the world could so entreat her.
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