It’s kind of the World War II thing. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. Knew something was up. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. She knew that her voice was superior to Annabel’s, and she had no further qualms. ” She smiled at him.
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