Predictably, Charvill turned on him. They were properly brought up, and sat still and straight, and took the luck fate brought them as gentlewomen should. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. On this I am resolved. Their eyes met, and his expressed perplexity and curiosity. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her.
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