“Yes,” she said, very faintly. ‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door. She acted as her mother had taught her to. Then she went back and mixed up the sheets in a search for particular passages. There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding.
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