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‘Only you made me lose my temper, and—’ ‘I made you do so? Pah!’ Gerald at last succeeded in ripping the handkerchief from her grasp, and swiftly held it to her neck, oblivious to her now bloodied fingers clawing at his hand. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind. And we won’t make it so. “What is the exact force of a motif?” she asked at random. "And you have seen … drunken men?" Prudence's tones were full of suppressed horror. Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty.
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