I'm nearly nabbing you. A tall elegantly dressed woman, followed by a maid, came down the broad staircase. From midnight until morning he was now left alone. On the day he carried the manuscript to Copeley's he brought back a packet of letters, magazines, and newspapers. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it. Her mouth was worthy of her face; with small, pearly-white teeth; lips glossy, rosy, and pouting; and the sweetest smile imaginable, playing constantly about them. "I was afraid it would be so. ‘You are an avid reader, I take it. Perhaps, as you say, I do not really care—but I cannot do it.
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