” “I say,” she reflected, “you ARE rather the master, you know. My husband, he is cruel and wicked, and—and entirely undistinguished. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. “They are full of the usual foolish stories. I cannot let you go.
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