‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked. I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. ” She made her glasses glint. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. All make the same answer—'d—n you, keep it. But I will not believe you.
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