He has nothing to fall back upon, no substitute; but a woman always has the mother love. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. Understand me! I forbid it. That night in his den he smoked many pipes. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it. She raised this with the air of a conspirator unmasking, and displayed a tear-flushed face.
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