"I was right," replied Jack, returning as coolly as if nothing had happened. She used to play violin, you know. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. She cried out in pain, then in pleasure as he thrust himself into her. His hand went with an almost instinctive inquiry to his jawbone again.
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