Perhaps it was loneliness. Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. His commissions this day would not fill his metal pipe with one wad of tobacco. “Then why the devil,” he demanded, “do you let me stand you dinners and the opera—and why do you come to a cabinet particuliar with me?” He became radiant with anger. ” She sat motionless, with her hand tightening over the edge of the table, and he, too, said no more. One would think that you enjoyed crawling away out of your world into hiding, with a very foolish wicked wife.
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