Trenchard glanced at the document. Tombs were desecrated, beautiful statues toppled, and the colorful shops that she had been enchanted by along the canal had been closed or burned. He stared at her breasts while he touched them. Another day of nonsuccess would mean many disagreeable things. "He can't get out. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. But his own ferocity was less now that she was disarmed. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. . . He caressed her tenderly, with no trace of the Sebastian who had previously knocked her off her feet with a slap across the mouth.
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