In the mornings I find labour easy because I am going to see you. “You frighten me!” He smiled at her indulgently. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. They will guess that I am English. ‘No, you don’t.
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