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“But you’re wrong. " "Won't one from me do as well?" interposed Mrs. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. He looked at his friend. He was in evening dress: swallow-tailed coat and white tie.
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