She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air. So long as she stood beside him, he was safe. Her aunt did not object to capital punishment or war, or the industrial system or casual wards, or flogging of criminals or the Congo Free State, because none of these things really got hold of her imagination; but she did object, she did not like, she could not bear to think of people not having and enjoying their meals. But I don't understand her; she's over my head. Well, this is OUR thing.
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