When Sheila was in a good mood, one almost enjoyed her. ‘Don’t be silly. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. Thames did not try to cheer her. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. ” “Oh, it wasn’t that.
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