He did not like it. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. ’ ‘Because I like you, of course,’ Gerald said promptly. But it is only fair to warn you that it isn’t expected. Anna admitted the fact. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. I want her to get forward, to set her among people who'll understand what to do with her. ‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue. He did like her, anyhow; he was always pleased to be with her.
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