It doesn't look bad, does it?" "Mercy, no! That wasn't the thought. Here you only waste your time. ” He said to her, quite unsure of whether or not he was dreaming. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. For this three weeks had been the hardest of her life. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol.
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