“What is the exact force of a motif?” she asked at random. The white veil had fallen to the ground and Gerald retrieved it for her. “But I have forbidden it!” he said, raising his voice. A little Cockney recovered it, and made ridiculous attempts to get to her and replace it. Her stifled misery had betrayed her. "Was I out of my head?" "Yes. She ran to the lamp and extinguished it. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless.
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