There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. Prudence shook her head. They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. He picked up the remote and sat himself to her right. Then, naturally, I went on talking.
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