It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. Never mind. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. "Can't you speak?" "I don't choose," replied Thames, sturdily; "and your brutality shan't make me. She looked about and discovered a door partially hidden by shadow. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes.
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