The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. She went to her bedroom, but she did not go to bed. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. "Go and take your plunge while I attend to breakfast. A sacrifice. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort.
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