With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. There was a great splash of blood upon it, her hand was all wet and sticky. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. “There’s another instinct, too,” he went on, “in a state of suppression, unless I’m very much mistaken; a child-expelling instinct. . We have played at a little mild lovemaking again.
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