What was it she had expected? Surely her moods were getting a little out of hand. For a long time he stared at the empty doorway. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. ‘It does not matter, Jacques. If you talk of your faults, I shall talk of your splendors. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action.
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