Things happen to women—proper women—and all they have to do is to take them well. He awoke, strangely content. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. She knew, too, she must not hesitate. Befuddle yourself, if you want to. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones.
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