“And yet in a very few weeks I shall have done with it all. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. Generations had been born and died in between the times she had gotten laid. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword. ‘Like you?’ ‘But I am not French. And the door was suddenly thrown open, and the two janizaries felled to the ground by the strong arm of the stalwart robber. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue.
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