But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. She stopped eating. ” She drove off in a little fiacre, nodding and smiling at Sir John, who remained upon the Avenue. She distinctly shivered as he forced her to look at him. She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. I have been sitting with him ever since. He's passed through some rough mental torture. Against the sinister, the threatening, monstrous inhumanity of the limitless city, there was nothing now but this supreme, ugly fact of a pursuit— the pursuit of the undesired, persistent male. The mighty concourse became for a moment still. For heaven’s sake, give him some Madeira or something, Gerald! Anything to calm him down. It’s gone.
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