His hug became an embrace. Charvill’s fury was burning out. With his arms bare, the neckband of his shirt tucked in, he laboured. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. He jumped out of his own side once again and ran around the car to open hers in another theatrical display of chivalry. He wasn't quite hard enough to win worldly success; that was his fault. Was the situation so desperate that he could not pack his best things? She had packed lightly, not wanting to weigh down the carriage they would travel in.
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