"Oh, God! would you take him from me?— would you murder him?" "His father's name?—and he is free," rejoined Rowland, holding her arms. ” There was a shout of laughter. Maggot, laughing. She was feeling extraordinarily well that night, so that the sense of her body was a deep delight, a realization of a gentle warmth and strength and elastic firmness. Guiltily, she felt very little for him, and yet she wondered what he would be like.
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