So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. Every drop of blood in her body glowed and expanded. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. ’ ‘You ain’t never,’ gasped Pottiswick. Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression. Superimposed was the agitating thought of what would follow the death of this unwelcome guest: confusion, poking authorities, British and American red tape. What would happen when next morning she returned to Morningside Park? He couldn’t turn her out of doors. What would happen when confronted by the actual? He was young; she was also young and physically beautiful—his lawful wife.
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