I’m rather scornful. The girl’s gaze met his in interested inquiry. His food lay untouched about his plate. Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written with her heart's blood. It did so well that they sold it in the nineties. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears.
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