She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. I got to have you under guard in the gatehouse, I can see that. . ‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding. She saw its depraved eyes, but worse were the glittering teeth as it smiled. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. . I shouldn't care to express an opinion.
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