"God forgive me for using such a word!" he cried, in a troubled tone; "if I hadn't yielded to my wife's silly request, this wouldn't have happened!" CHAPTER VII. "You are my prisoner, Jack. The door closed softly upon her. Sniveling brats, little fatherless bastards, you should breathe a sigh of relief. Let—it—fall. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. And for my part, if I were inclined to exercise my benevolence at all, it should be in favour of some more deserving object than that whining, hypocritical Magdalene. To them all I am nothing. I’m convinced that much of Russell’s investigations are on wrong lines, unsound lines. \"Yes, he's hot, drives a great car, parents are loaded, and, of course, as you say, good-looking. They sell only their talents, not their bodies; they are not girls of the street. The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly.
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