“Michelle, I don’t ever want to hear you mention the subject you mentioned at dinner again. Meet me. You are the one person I can understand and feel—feel right with. These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and began again. Nasty, damp passages. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. His subconscious sensed the unnaturalness of it and recoiled. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. ‘We don’t know who she is.
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