His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. "She's glorious!" He knew that he must hoodwink this keeneyed Scot, even as he must hoodwink everybody: publicly, the devoted husband; privately, the celibate. She went further: she doubted that he was fully conscious of where he was. “What can one say?” she exclaimed. His favorite newspaper was the Times, which he began at breakfast in the morning often with manifest irritation, and carried off to finish in the train, leaving no other paper at home. " But she did not complete the thought aloud. “My husband!” she laughed a little derisively. . . She is in the hall now.
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