Just. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. 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. Even her debt to him was a triviality now. She put her clothes back on, 118 lipstick smeared all over her face. The ring's yours, and you're mine. The dog-fox cannot be far off, since the cub is found. “Thank you. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips.
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