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Revenge of the gods was not even on her mind as Sylvia Seltoun breakfasted in the morning-room at Yessney. Hers was a pleasant sense of ultimate victory. She felt that she had won her hardest and most important struggle. To have married Mortimer Seltoun, “Dead Mortimer” as his more intimate enemies called him! And in the teeth of the cold hostility of his family, and in spite of his unaffected indifference to women. This was indeed an achievement.
Yesterday she had brought her victory to its concluding stage by wrenching her husband away from Town. Yes, Town, and its group of satellite watering places! She had thus begun “settling him down” in this remote wood-encircled manor farm, his country house.
There was a sombre almost savage wildness about the Yessney estate. That wild character was not likely to appeal to town-bred tastes. Sylvia was accustomed to nothing much more woodsy than “leafy Kensington.” Distrust of town life had been a new thing for her, born of her marriage with Mortimer. Indeed, she had watched with satisfaction the gradual fading of what she called “the Street-look” in his eyes.
She smiled as she gazed with an art school appreciation at the landscape. Suddenly she almost shuddered in concern at a possible revenge of the gods, pagan gods who seemed both ancient and present.No matching video
(A week later.)
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