” She said wistfully. But now it was all over, and Alice was getting on well. A sob was strangled in her throat. ” She gazed at him. Whenever you grow impatient with her, remember the folly of her father. What you would look upon as immorality is here merely an established custom, three thousand years older than Christianity, accepted with no more ado than that which would accompany you should you become a clerk in a shop. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. "You do love me?" "God knows how much!" Suddenly he laid his head on her shoulder.
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