The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. The female’s words caught at his attention, and he no longer heard what the young Poussaint girl was saying to him. He fancied that when they had had time to reflect, they would regret it still more. He was caked with dried muck. It was painful to want him so much. I will shed no more blood.
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