"The marriage was never consummated," continued the imperturbable stranger. “I promise, Lucy. Spurlock looked up. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. He laid her on their old bed and kissed her from head to toe. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. “Why not? Isn’t the whole thing a lie? Isn’t her reputation, this husband of hers, the ‘Alcide’ business, isn’t it all a cursed juggle? She hasn’t the right to do it. Oddly, he was seldom angry with her as Gianfrancesco would have been. She stood face to face with him, and his voice cut across her speech and made her stop abruptly.
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