“Then why the devil,” he demanded, “do you let me stand you dinners and the opera—and why do you come to a cabinet particuliar with me?” He became radiant with anger. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. “I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition. His course, however, was no longer interrupted, and he crept on. It is as if my lips had been sealed about them. Kneebone, Mrs.
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