“You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. Her back arched slightly in response. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually. But one must disguise oneself. It was still profoundly dark; but the wind, which had begun to blow with some violence, chased the clouds rapidly across the heavens, and dispersed the vapours hanging nearer the earth. In the periphery of her vision, she saw the door pulled back. Cautiously stepping outside, he looked up towards the terrace. . She pulled her chair with a mild creak and marched towards the stair. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. .
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