She gurgled. The temperature soared to one hundred degrees, sickeningly hot. What was to happen now? She turned to Roding quickly. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day. Your uncle—our uncle is with him. She had intended to be quietly dignified, but he was in a smouldering rage from the beginning, and began by assuming, which alone was more than flesh and blood could stand, that the insurrection was over and that she was coming home submissively. You will make her suffer. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed.
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