He stood away from her. The Vorsack house bore the stamp of Diane in every visible spot. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. She would not forgive me. After a series of mental gymnastics—occupying the space of a few seconds—it came to him with a shock that here was a new specimen of the species. You are my wife now and you belong to me. Marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by a dead dog, which was hurled against him, and struck him in the face.
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