Meysey Hill—never your wife. "I don't see how you do it, Hoddy. Something like a snarl crossed his face, and ignoring the pistol, he moved forward, seizing her shoulders. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in.
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