He had mentioned teaching her how to read Latin one day when she had wandered into the library. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. ‘Dreadfully untidy, is it not? Can’t abide bare rooms. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night.
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