That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. Swinging her arm in an arc, she let go of the foil and it flew across the chapel towards the main door, crashing down between the pews, and clattering onto the floor. She turned towards the door, and had taken a pace towards it when it was flung open. But to go courting a slave-girl, at the risk of physical hurt! A shudder of distaste wrinkled her shoulders. “For Heaven’s sake, no,” she answered quickly. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. You can pay me when we return. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous. “I wonder,” he said, “if women do know things by instinct? I have my doubts about feminine instinct.
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