And she was about as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller. She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women. Mr. I don’t wish to marry you at all. But, moving through into the first of the large main rooms that led one into another around the house, with here and there an antechamber between, it was obvious that the task was not going to be easy. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words.
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