He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. ‘I have not asked for this trouble from anyone. She passed inside and upstairs without a word. You had better go to bed. I'll have a peep at him, if I die for it," she muttered, as she went out. “In any case, there is probably some mistake. Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised as literature and art. She felt a storm of emotion surging up within her.
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