In a sense I don’t care. “I never planned it—And now I have begun—” She felt acutely that he was entitled to explanations, and as acutely that explanations were impossible that night. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. “Thank goodness!” said that retreating aspect, “that’s said and over. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. "More slang," he said. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. It is not for myself I fear.
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