‘It does not matter, Jacques. You did not marry her because you loved her; you did not marry because she might have had money; you did not marry her out of gratitude; you did not marry her because you had to. Then the incredible happened. Perhaps because I don’t know. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. When you don’t have any toes left, I take your precious little cock. "When I heard of your escape, I felt sure I should see you. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. There was a wild light in her eye, and her straight hair was out demonstrating and suffragetting upon some independent notions of its own.
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