He was almost paralyzed with nervousness and desire. “I should like to understand you,” he said. But you! Why the devil did you marry her? That's the thing that confounds me. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. Silly, isn’t it? Undisciplined. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. She has blue eyes, and her figure is more full. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. He asked her whether she understood what she was saying, and went on to say still more precisely that she should never touch a penny of his money until she came home again—not one penny. I want my freedom. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation.
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