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She leaned back in the cab with half-closed eyes. Stanley determined to improve the occasion. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. Indignation carried her through that night, that men and the world could so entreat her. That night in Paris I saw on the bills ‘Fatal Motor Accidents. The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist. ‘It is not your affair. A couple of gilt straight-backed chairs only. Stop it!” Anna stepped back bewildered, but the man held out his arms to her.
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