He pointed to where the lights still burned in Anna’s windows. Drawing the pay of life and then not living. She could hardly speak to me; she insisted relentlessly upon a separation. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. “My charm of manner, I suppose. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray.
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