A few seconds sufficed to clear the passage, through which it had previously cost him more than two hours to force his way. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. She was not very clear about the position and duties of a chorus-girl, but it certainly had the air of being a last desperate resort. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. Because their human lives were so short, the happily married had no time to get sick of one another.
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