“That’s it,” she said. He glanced up at the coachman. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. It was as if her aesthetic sense had become inflamed. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night. ’ ‘I didn’t say I did not enjoy it,’ Gerald protested.
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