‘Do you know, Mademoiselle Charvill, you are a thought too clever for your own good. Jack's life hangs on your determination. But I shall lose my wager if I stay a moment longer—so here goes. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. 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. She was very greatly exercised by the two systems of values—the two series of explanations that her comparative anatomy on the one hand and her sense of beauty on the other, set going in her thoughts.
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