Even this man-hunting machine was willing to grant the boy his honeymoon. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. I see now that you make a game with me indeed. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it. I shall make no defence.
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