He closed the door. At least, you are one, and I am disguised like one. There it is. He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always rose when she entered or left the room. Then he opened the study door and called “Mollie!” and returned to assume an attitude of authority on the hearthrug, before the blue flames and orange glow of the gas fire. And you see, I don’t turn my back, and I am looking at you and thinking about you from top to toe. He waited for hours after dusk but she never arrived.
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