It is an Occidental point of view. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. “But Sebastian! I need them!” He smiled, not a smile of comfort, but a smile of terrible menace. “What are you two whispering about?” She turned towards Martin. She had already killed more than she wanted to count, yet she had counted them still. Towards night, however, he ventured out, and walked on towards London. Sebastian had known it was coming, but he could not avoid sleeping as easily as she could. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations.
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