He remained talking with her however. Miraculously, her schoolmates were so upswept in their own summer planning that they had no time to interrogate her. Why aren’t you folded up clean in lavender—as every young woman ought to be? What have you been doing with yourself?. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. His quiet, kindly smile implied his serene disbelief in any confessible thing. . . Afterwards we started for déjeuner in a motor. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death.
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