The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy. Their conversation became stilted. He kissed her deeply and hungrily. “David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. No doubt that was due to his helplessness. ‘Oh, Lord,’ muttered Gerald, going instantly to her aid. “One doesn’t want to turn the whole thing into a mere sex antagonism. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. Later. It stunned her. Marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by a dead dog, which was hurled against him, and struck him in the face.
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