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. I must go and dress at once. All I had to do was to piece them together. If you don’t think it would be a social outrage, perhaps I might walk with you to your railway station. I do not even know his name.
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