The clanking of chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been music in Jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself to such sounds. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her. Majorities, right or wrong, dare not revolt.
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