You'll never be guided by me—never!" "Indeed, my love, you're entirely mistaken," returned the carpenter, endeavouring to deprecate his wife's rising resentment by the softest looks, and the meekest deportment. Yesterday this glorious creature had loved him; to-day she was only friendly. At the bottom of her heart she was not a bit afraid of Ramage. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity. “His love-making,” she remarked, “struck me as unconvincing. You don’t have to live forever to understand that.
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