“Well, well, Martin. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. Get it off your soul. "Set it down, I tell you," thundered Blueskin, "or I shall do it a mischief.
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