He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. A mate? A brother-lover to tromp about the world with? “I cannot. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. ” Miss Stanley turned to her. In an instant, she turned on him.
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