Sebastian had come to visit his old friend and former wife. “John, don’t!” she cried. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. ‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. “It’s the stir of spring,” he said. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt.
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