But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean. The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing. “She has refused to listen to you?” “She has behaved in a most extraordinary manner,” he answered.
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