They were exquisite. Marina had retired to bed, drinking wine slowly, sleeping when she was not drinking. “My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women. You go to your room and ring for your maid. You owe what I have done for you, to him, not to me. \" \"Wow. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity.
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