“I didn’t know Mr. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. To vault over the pews was the work of a moment; and having gained the entry leading to the Red Room he passed through the first door; his progress being only impeded by the pile of broken stones, which he himself had raised. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. One with the appearance of a bald little gnome yawned agonizingly.
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