"Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. She flailed against the doctor’s grip but after what seemed an eternity of kicking and flailing, amazingly, he had not seemed weakened in the slightest by her resistance. She felt draggled and insulted beyond redemption. Plote was sleeping or deaf. For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her. But still she knew they were not right, and at times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her round the corner.
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