’ For my own part I go about loving. ‘Dieu du ciel, but answer me!’ Martha’s eyes were swimming again, and she reached out. I’m a female thing at bottom. I loved her and made love to her, and I don’t think she quite loved me back in the same way. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. She is called Madame Ibstock, you understand. And now you know. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years.
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