\"Oh. She is no longer mine; she is yours. “My dear Vee!” Her voice became very low. I hope this is all. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. Disillusion stands in one doorway of our house and Mockery in the other. From McClintock's came an infernal tinkletinkle, tump-tump! There was no composing with such a sound hammering upon the ear.
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