"Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. As she came close, he took a pace forward and seized her from behind, one strong arm clamping her tight against his chest, the free hand seizing her about the mouth, stifling the cry that gurgled in her throat. Groans and hoots were now raised by the crowd, and there was an evident disposition to rescue. Reverse psychology or something, it’s like she was trying to draw him nearer by pushing him away. She’s a snob. She and Courtlaw drove homewards together. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing.
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