Milky sunlight spilled on the floor. A woman cannot change her soul. CHAPTER VI. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. “Hold on, she’s right here. “Will you come this way,” she said, “into the drawing-room? There is no one there just now. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page.
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