What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently. ‘Didn’t mean to say that. “Your sister’s future is at stake. Presently repellance grew under the frozen mask of astonishment and dissipated it. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. So long as a man behaves himself, I can't refuse him liquor. We were to live in some wretched London suburb.
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