He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald. She closed her eyes more vividly to recall some line which had carried the blot. "But I have one last request to make. I can decide for myself. “Fine.
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