"I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. She moved then, fast, taking refuge behind a Chinese screen that was set beside the four-poster at the back of the room. “Do you hear!” she said “whatever you are, wherever you are! I will not be slave to the thought of any man, slave to the customs of any time. He turned to her and pinned her against the headrest with his kisses. The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen.
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