Half an hour's labour, during which he was obliged more than once to pause to regain breath, sufficed to make a hole wide enough to allow a passage for his arm up to the elbow. He had reacted by pushing her away, disgust and frustration on his face. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. To call yourself ‘Alcide’! Your hair, your gestures, your voice, all mine! Oh, how dared you do it?” “You must not forget,” Anna said calmly, “that it is necessary for me also—to live. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. She put her hand in his to be squeezed.
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