Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. . He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. That, I think, is manifest. Nature is a mother; her sympathies have always been feminist, and she has tempered the man to the shorn woman. He might miss at this distance.
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