He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gerald. I'm safe enough if you hold your tongue.
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