Her hormones were raging stupidly. Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at the side of the bed. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. To O'Higgins—for all his sordid business he was not insensible to beauty—to O'Higgins she appeared to have entered the room with the light. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony.
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