Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. Proper enough now, when he could not help himself, but the habit would be formed; and when he was strong again it would become the normal role, hers to give and his to receive. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her.
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