The way it had happened was stupid, absurd. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. ‘We were wondering about that. His literary instincts were reviving. But she did not talk readily, and in order to say something she plunged a little, and felt she plunged. Wood. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. A small voice greeted her, hissing. For a time she promenaded the room. The temperature soared to one hundred degrees, sickeningly hot. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. ” To remain, she felt, was to concede everything.
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