The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. "Try!" Enraged at the assurance of his mistress, the woollen-draper endeavoured to carry his threat into execution, but all his efforts to remove her were unavailing. “So you still think of me as husband, even though we have long since tired of each other. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. "My mother is avenged. .
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