’ ‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly. We were hunting and were separated from the rest of the hunters, so I said, ‘There are ways for a man to escape his wife where no one is harmed. I die happy—quite happy in beholding you. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. He went in and leaned, panting, against one wall. Capes came back into her mind. “Who are you?” She asked innocently. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home.
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