For the most part these were detached people: men practising the plastic arts, young writers, young men in employment, a very large proportion of girls and women—self-supporting women or girls of the student class. You will be—my wife. Gerald saw her eyes change as she recognised him. Wood, glancing angrily at her husband. Taking hold of the hilt of his own foil, he drew it forth. She was fatigued physically and mentally, and neither mind nor body could rest. With each step his heartbeat increased exponentially. She tried to be casual. She had never let off a pistol in her life. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion.
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