Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. 9. Mr. Wild here presently. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. I am your servitor.
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