To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. Hugging them, they crept stealthily around the house, Major Alderley leading, and wasting—so his captain acidly commented—a deal of time checking the windows and doors. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. I have it about me. Not like my father. But perhaps he was right not to tell you the truth.
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