“We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. “It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. She decided that she would try to push whatever resolve he had in the car to see where it would lead. His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern. Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at the side of the bed. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent.
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