Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. She fixed her eyes upon it and ran, keeping always as far as possible in the shadow of the hedge, gazing fearfully every now and then down along the valley for the white smoke of the train. Sir John stood upon the threshold. “Please stay,” she said briefly. He's a model of conjugal attachment and fidelity, a pattern to his family, and an example to his neighbours.
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