"Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did not love him, or he knew nothing of love signs. It could not be she who had done this. This time you cannot. And he had good reason before long to congratulate himself on his forbearance. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. Then fury claimed her and she could no longer pretend. “I detest amateurs.
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