She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. She was noisy and hilarious and enthusiastic, and her hair was always abominably done. Paintings sold off the walls. “I believed that he was the great multi-millionaire.
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