She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. "And now let's see who'll dare to oppose me. And we’re going to fight that old world down there. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. White?” she asked, laughing. "Oh! he'll be after you directly. It was perfectly logical. \"May I come in?\" His bravado was increasing. ‘Would you care for some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?’ ‘Nothing, merci, I do not remain,’ she answered, although she did not rise. And her kind of love forgives everything and anything but infidelity. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping.
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