Berserker, Spurlock rose, head down, and charged. She shrugged her shoulders. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. “You’re still,” he said, “in the educational years. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. He was looking pale and ill.
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