“That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. If I were a clean, free man—We’ll have to talk of all these things. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy.
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