. He began to tell me something—and stopped. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. ‘You see,’ he pursued blandly, ‘I lead a life of the most intolerable boredom. I'm always agreeable to the women, bless their kind hearts! Now! slip the purse into my hand. gutenberg. ” “It would be my pleasure, madame. Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman.
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