” “You are willing to give up your position, your beautiful houses, your carriages and milliner’s accounts to come back to Bohemianism?” “Why not?” Annabel declared. Meysey Hill—never your wife. The policy of this step was immediately apparent. "Here are some letters, which will let you see what a snake you've cherished in your bosom, you uxorious old dotard," said Blueskin, tossing a packet of papers to Wood, as he followed his leader. She looked about and discovered a door partially hidden by shadow. The man looked hard at him. "What is this?" she wanted to know. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him.
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