She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses or the tube. Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. If I were to marry you now I should feel a dependent being all my life—a sort of parasitical creature without blood or muscle. Shari’s head poked out of the bathroom where she had been preoccupied with preparations for her morning shower. Sometimes they marry well.
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