"Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. Still silence everywhere. At the same time he comprehended that she was as pure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did not carry that ridiculous shield called false modesty. He watched her constantly, trapped her in corners and slept with his arms locking her like a human cage. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. "Let me go," cried Winifred. “Upon my word,” he exclaimed, “this is most extraordinary. ‘I cannot possibly shoot a lady, you know.
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