“I can sing the songs ‘Alcide’ sang, and in the same style. “I know. ‘I’ve finished me report, sir,’ Trodger said aggrievedly. ‘I know her, ma’am, but I know next to nothing of her story. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. She made no answer, and for a time he debated some problems with himself. It’s like this: You want freedom. ’ ‘Lord, yes,’ agreed Gerald, in mock horror. She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all.
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