As he proceeded, other painful reminiscences were aroused. I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I could keep for at least six months. It was something that would create a mutual claim, a relationship. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. You would be alarmed of how sulphurous it is, how sickeningly sweet.
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