She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. “I never planned it—And now I have begun—” She felt acutely that he was entitled to explanations, and as acutely that explanations were impossible that night. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant.
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