"I have not trusted you. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. ” The men at the reporter’s table lifted their eyebrows, smiled faintly, and leaned back to watch how she took her scolding. She felt draggled and insulted beyond redemption. ” She looked at him with uplifted eyebrows—a look of whimsical incredulity. ’ A peal of delighted laughter greeted this threat. I sit back now, letting life slip by and musing upon it; and I find my loneliness sweet. The world is known to you. The tables were then cleared.
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