What brings you here?” “I’m here to see my uncle. ” Miss Stanley turned to her. There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. Spurling had retired for the night. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments.
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