Do you understand?” “I do not,” he answered. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. “Look at me. Witness Browning. The door opened. He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. In privacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventually destroyed it by fire. . She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night.
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