The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. “If I do,” he said. ‘You mean I should give myself a dressingdown? Very well. The money will last longer, and—it won’t bother you. . "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. ‘She may well try to go back.
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