But she did not believe he would do that. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. I said I knew he disliked and distrusted you and your work—that you shared all Russell’s opinions: he hates Russell beyond measure—and that we couldn’t possibly face a conventional marriage. It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels. Then go and fetch this daughter of yourn.
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