CHAPTER XXVI. ‘They cannot help it. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. I saw the metal box a hundred times, but I never thought of opening it until the day I fled. I wish very much that you had written before leaving Paris. “Then—then we can talk things out. Wood started to his feet. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. Visiting? Dressed for it, certainly.
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