"Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. My vengeance is completely gratified. ‘Or do I arrest you and have these soldiers march you off to gaol?’ A sweep of his arm indicated the array of military strength on the benches, every eye of which was trained on the little scene being enacted before them. I can’t afford to get behind. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male. Mrs. Don't unman him. . . " "Well," said Sister Prudence, "remember, I tried to save you some future heartaches. He was a fool. ‘How is this? Proo-den-ss. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. But he was always forcing her to say and do such unexpectedly conclusive things.
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