Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. Peste, she had forgot the sword. It was cramped even at the end of the passage. Presently he felt motion. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget.
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