They confronted each other, barely feet apart, neither apparently any longer aware of anyone else in the room. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. ‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. Supposing they find you and take you away?—and she unprepared? Have you thought of that? Why did you marry her?" "God alone knows!" "And you don't love her! What kind of a woman do you want, anyhow?"—with rising anger. Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised as literature and art. She could have dined alone in her room; but courage had demanded that she face the ordeal and have done with it. "It would avail him little if he did," replied Kneebone. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. Cahill gave me a hall pass. “Come sit with me, beautiful. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head.
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