One of the reasons why I left Paris and came to London was because there was a man there who wanted me to marry him. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. Hidden menace; a prescience of something dreadful about to happen. You fell in at once with her quixotic and damnable scheme of foisting her reputation and her follies upon your shoulders whilst she marries a rich man and commences all over again a life of selfish pleasure. With a gesture which was without any kind of emotional expression, the manager indicated the silent crumpled figure on the floor and gave the room number. ‘To read and write, of course, and to sew.
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