She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. His arm closed in around her middle and she was caught. “And you?” “Same thing. It was enough that she witnessed it and could not go to him. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. The pistol fell to the floor.
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