How many ends had he? Well, she must cease to trouble herself for this imbecile, whom it would give her very much pleasure to shoot. She closed her eyes as if asleep, her hands folded neatly on her abdomen. "Let him remain," interposed Trenchard. I’m not a bit afraid of anything—scandal, difficulty, struggle. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less. Never did I need a rescue so much. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling.
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