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” “We’ll have, thank God! ten myriad days to tell each other things. Pity you aren’t under my command. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. He knew very well that his muscles were flabby, and his nerve by no means what it should be. ‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. She said she hoped she had not distressed him by the course she had felt obliged to take, and he told her not to be a fool. She's the boss.
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