The watcher's intake of breath was sibilant. The boiling under her stern, however, told him nothing. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. 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.
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