So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. He lit a cigarette and loitered about. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. I can’t rest or work or settle down to anything while things are like this between you and me. The doctor said you wrote.
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