She took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. He delayed the blow till the fortunate conjuncture was past. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. “I’m not sure whether we don’t rather overdo all this higher education,” he said, with an effect of conveying profound meanings. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. “How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime. He rang the doorbell, even though she had already cracked the door for him. He had not remembered her as looking so small. Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet. You are more in my power than I am in yours.
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