Now that she was his, to make or mar, she presented an extraordinary fascination. Women to me are something so serene, so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome and quarrelsome. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. She could tell that he was leering at her. " "'Zounds! Captain, I shall get my death of cold.
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