She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. They were familiar but more massive. Let us be gone. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. Manning, I do not really want to marry. ’ ‘I didn’t bring him,’ Gerald returned swiftly. Lose not a moment, Hobson. Manning, with a sweep of the arm. I would that you were my own. It’s these damned novels. It worked. To her, marriage would be a buckler against the two evils which pursued her. And he had good reason before long to congratulate himself on his forbearance.
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