" "I see. " This simple admission disarmed McClintock. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. Nothing but the constraint of social usage now linked him to her. I was just like a sort of dummy that does things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. Here again the clothes were minus the labels.
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