” “All these things,” he muttered bitterly, “this desperate resolve to take your life into your own hands, your unnatural craving for independence, would never trouble you for a moment—if you really cared. “TROUSERS!” she whispered. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. Prudence was the substance and Angelina the shadow; for Angelina never offered opinions, she only agreed with those advanced by Prudence. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks.
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