He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. In a moment his grasp grew weaker. She turned towards the door, and had taken a pace towards it when it was flung open. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. ” “We do.
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