I could never make you understand. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. Hugging him in the beautiful dress in front of the teenagers was strangely soothing to her. The little spot of rouge was vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed to draw the colour even from her lips.
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