But it is my fault. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. So, very carefully, he raised her in his arms and carried her to her bed. I said I knew he disliked and distrusted you and your work—that you shared all Russell’s opinions: he hates Russell beyond measure—and that we couldn’t possibly face a conventional marriage. At the same time,” she added, in a suddenly altered tone, “it isn’t anything whatever to do with you, is it?” “Why not?” he answered.
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