“Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream. ‘What now?’ ‘Now,’ she answered flatly, ‘you will please to tell me at once why you have come here.
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