Mrs. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. Nature is a mother; her sympathies have always been feminist, and she has tempered the man to the shorn woman. They will insist upon a catalogue of things one must not do, which does nothing but fill one with the greatest desire to do them. ’ And with that he went off to the City, stern and silent, leaving his bacon on his plate—a great slice of bacon hardly touched. His voice now had lost its ironies. He gurgled as if trying to communicate. ‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology. She refused to eat. Very dark, like yours, ma’am.
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