Later. ’ ‘That wasn’t my fault. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. Women to me are something so serene, so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome and quarrelsome. During the narration Jack's features lighted up, and an expression, which would have been in vain looked for in repose, was instantly caught and depicted by the skilful artist. "You lie!" Head down, fists doubled, Spurlock rushed: only to be met with a kick which was intended for the groin but which struck the thigh instead. "I'll admit that. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire.
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