“Mr. She glanced into his face. "Good night. “Well?” “You and all the rest of them are always lamenting that I do not marry. "Mother—dear mother! Once again, I beseech you to listen to me. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. ‘That’s not much comfort.
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