’” “What did he say?” “What does any one say to an invitation to dinner point-blank? One tries to collect one’s wits. Jack seemed glad enough to rest, his back against the wall, and closed his eyes. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. One is always familiar with the business of one’s neighbours. ‘This is not love, Marthe. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms.
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