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He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. “It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths. “It was only yesterday I had your letter, and you never mentioned coming over. There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. We have seen great and sober-minded men come to this unholy city, and become degenerates. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. Reverse psychology or something, it’s like she was trying to draw him nearer by pushing him away. Don’t take revenge on him because I’ve wronged you. “Endless.
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