Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. " "Jacobite!" echoed Mrs. She whispered, “Another car is coming,” as lights approached their car.
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