There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. Before he could make the thrust, however, he was seized behind by Ireton, who flung himself upon him. Proper enough now, when he could not help himself, but the habit would be formed; and when he was strong again it would become the normal role, hers to give and his to receive. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. Nowhere could he see that reaching, menacing Hand.
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