Perhaps I deceived you about it. It was dawn: Cathy would soon be off to the restaurant and Larry off to paint a house. He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. "Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her.
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