He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. Then she shrugged. Wanted her out of the way because he had been afraid of her, afraid of himself! He, at fifty-four! Then into this void poured a flaming anger, a blind and unreasoning anger. At breakfast both of them played their parts skillfully. Sir John was not used to such glances, and he liked them. “Difficulties indeed.
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