"I thought we were going to have some music," she said. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. The third time she escaped she reached the inconsequent barricade of the overturned table. "Back!" cried Jack fiercely: "lay a finger on her, and I will fell you to the ground. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. ’ ‘It is true,’ insisted the lady. "I cannot—will not suffer you to remain here.
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