Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. Even you have not been able to hold her back. She seemed to grow more beautiful to him and not the opposite. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. He wants you—or he doesn’t; and then he helps some other woman against you. Don't unman him. Once before—but that had been different. “I don’t know where to go to. "Well, my pretty dears," he added, "—to see your husband, eh? You must make the most of your time. “Bohemianism is the least understood word ever coined. ‘But I’m hanged if I know why you find it so amusing. And, turning to his daughter, he gave the necessary directions in a low tone. Wood, contemptuously.
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