“Our marriage must be annulled. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. His foot tapped impatiently, and he took up the papers. ” He groaned. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. ” He was bereft of words for a moment, and in that moment she escaped, having passed him on deftly to one of the later arrivals.
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