She continued to fan herself. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do was to pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats. Something forbade him to draw her toward him and seal the compact with a kiss. ‘I believe that.
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