"My old coco is disintegrating. Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket pocket. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. Anna sat quite still for a moment, and then the colour suddenly returned to her cheeks. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. "So I have," replied Hogarth, glancing at Sheppard. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. She took to listening through closed doors. She leaves town to-morrow.
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