For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. “I’m damned if I’ll believe it,” he muttered to himself savagely. “It is very good of you to come and see me, my dear sister,” Annabel remarked, throwing herself into a low chair, and clasping her hands over her head. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. " "Don't say anything about it, dear Mrs. " "Look at it, then," said Wild, giving him the portfolio. She fell into another depression, refusing to touch Sebastian or call him husband when he demanded it. And now YOU’RE on the war-path. That’s— that’s my private life. " There was a momentary and terrible silence, broken only by a few feeble groans. Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. It loves to sit on your knee. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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