Abruptly he gripped her wrist. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus.
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