. . ."
And that was all that this astonishing man had seen fit to tell of
his last parting from his wife.
Perhaps he did Amanda injustice. Perhaps there was a stronger
thread of reality in her desire to recover him than he supposed.
Clearly he believed that under the circumstances Amanda would have
tried to recover anybody.
She had dressed for that morning's encounter in a very becoming and
intimate wrap of soft mauve and white silk, and she had washed and
dried her dark hair so that it was a vapour about her face. She set
herself with a single mind to persuade herself and Benham that they
were inseparable lovers, and she would not be deflected by his grim
determination to discuss the conditions of their separation. When
he asked her whether she wanted a divorce, she offered to throw over
Sir Philip and banish him for ever as lightly as a great lady might
sacrifice an objectionable poodle to her connubial peace.
Benham passed through perplexing phases, so that she herself began
to feel that her practice with Easton had spoilt her hands.
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