He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. . Although she had refused to answer his impertinent questions. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. ‘You keep a-hold of him,’ Trodger ordered his men. Man or woman. ' He muttered it continually. And you’re as clean as fire. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her.
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