” “Would you mind telling me,” Anna asked, “how long I knew you in Paris?” He looked at her sideways. Wasn’t easy, I can tell you. If not, I have plenty to think about,” she answered, leaning back in her chair, and watching the smoke from her own cigarette curl upwards. They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. If she could not marry him, she would not marry any one.
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