” He referred to a sheet of paper by his side. ‘Pitiful. He dined, and then pleaded a political engagement. She led him up the long hall solemnly. Wanted her out of the way because he had been afraid of her, afraid of himself! He, at fifty-four! Then into this void poured a flaming anger, a blind and unreasoning anger. "You'll not forget the thousand, Sir Rowland—short accounts, you know. I have healed and I am still your wife!\" She looked at him desperately, his eyes illuminated by firelight. To surrender himself to the law, to face trial and imprisonment, was out of the question.
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