"Oh, God! would you take him from me?— would you murder him?" "His father's name?—and he is free," rejoined Rowland, holding her arms. Lucy sat in the back seat as the trio sped through intersections in the old sedan. He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always rose when she entered or left the room. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did not love him, or he knew nothing of love signs.
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