Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible. She did not twitch. Your first treatment of a subject is always correct, always suggestive. She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. Wood fancied he recognised. It engulfed them in black, white, and gray.
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