She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. EPOCH THE FIRST, 1703. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can be. It was dry, as if she had powdered it. I ought to be able to think things out. It’s your way of glossing over the ethical position. I must stay a minute longer, if only to see you smile. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on.
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