There was something fatalistic about the letter H. You couldn’t help it. I've destroyed my only chance. \" She opened the front door with her keys, stepping inside. ‘Difficult, I grant you. ‘Quite wrong, monsieur. ‘But do you not see that he will come again? I think it is better if you, both of you, go and leave me here to find—’ She broke off, looking away. An influence of this description appeared to be exerted on the present occasion. She felt that there was a hidden meaning under his words. ‘Would you care for some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?’ ‘Nothing, merci, I do not remain,’ she answered, although she did not rise. “Why?” “I still love you.
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