She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. You want industry—you want steadiness. His tone changed, becoming a little more moderate. . CHAPTER IX. “I’m sorry. . . Why should he stare at her in this fashion?—for all the world as if she had pointed a pistol at his head? CHAPTER III He had said it, spoken it like that … his own name! After all these weeks of trying to obliterate even the memory of it!… to have given it to this girl without her asking! The thought of peril cleared a space in the alcoholic fog. They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive.
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