They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. Sheila was often a terror to her husband Mark, who seemed afraid of her. Love stories! It was of negligible importance that these books were bound in paper; Romance lay unalterably within. So strongly was he impressed with this idea, that grasping the iron bar with both hands, he dashed it furiously against the door, making the passage echo with the blows. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me. He lowered himself onto her and entered her slowly, an inch at a time.
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