He recalled with exasperating perplexity her clear, matter-of-fact tone as she talked about love-making being unconvincing. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers. “No, I administered poisons to you according to the ancient tradition. "I can do without it," muttered Jack.
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