"Well, Joan," said the benevolent mechanic, after he had looked at her steadfastly for a few moments, "what say you?—silence gives consent, eh?" Mrs. She did not resist him, she could not. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. ’ Then she came closer and put her hand on his chest so that it rested on the braid that decorated his scarlet coat.
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