But she felt his lax figure become rigid. Predictably, Charvill turned on him. He appeared to be strangely uncommunicative, though I tried to draw him out. Wild had escaped. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. Would you stand by me—and her?” “My dear Nigel!” she exclaimed. From the unlovely hillside his glance strayed to the several five-story towers of the pawnshops. He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat.
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