’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. Manning’s handwriting, and opened his letter and read some lines before its import appeared. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. But something instinctive prevented that, and with the finest resolve not to be “silly” and prudish she found that whenever he became at all bold in this matter she became severely scientific and impersonal, almost entomological indeed, in her method; she killed every remark as he made it and pinned it out for examination. Only I’m so incensed with that crazy fool Gerald that—oh, well, never mind. " "My turn comes before yours, Sir," interposed his better half. But, you see, she HAS to lie up.
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