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In the afternoon she had considered certain doubts very carefully, and decided on a more emphatic course of action. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. She remained on guard. Whatever he did, she was bound to scream. Very romantic and all that.
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