Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. “Yes. Shame and electricity coursed through her veins, flowing directly from him in a flash flood. She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy kicking this man to death. He had often read about it, and once he had incorporated it in a story, that invisible force which sent men to prison and to the gallows, when a tongue controlled would have meant liberty indefinite.
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