He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. She knew that her voice was superior to Annabel’s, and she had no further qualms. She could now see to read; so she stirred the manuscript about until she came upon the first page. It isn’t the same thing. “It was a phase,” she said. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. It was dated from the House of Commons on the previous day. ’ ‘No, I won’t.
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