A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. The jealous burn at his eyes subsided and his finger came up. I went to the theatre that night. I saw him lying on the footway. Perhaps because I don’t know. Wood's boat, impelled alike by oar and tide, shot past the mark at which it aimed; and before it could be again brought about, the struggle had terminated. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her.
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