All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. A Hand that strove to reach his shoulder, relentless, soulless but lawful. But I don’t think she lays hold of one so. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless.
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