She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. “I want to have no distractions. You never can tell. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. One went in for painting, kept straight and married old Ferringhall a week or so ago—the Lord help her. On the left lay the heights of Hampstead, studded with villas, while farther off a hazy cloud marked the position of the metropolis. The one problem was that it didn’t fly. You’re a lady all right and tight, and nothing anyone does can take that away from you. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. ‘Stand where you are, or I shoot!’ Like lightning, thoughts zipped through her mind.
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