" And he hastily related the occurrences in Jonathan Wild's house. Supposing they find you and take you away?—and she unprepared? Have you thought of that? Why did you marry her?" "God alone knows!" "And you don't love her! What kind of a woman do you want, anyhow?"—with rising anger. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. He had almost forced himself upon her one night after a particularly bloody raid of a thatched cottage. Profoundly. He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing.
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