He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. He was staring at her, openly gaping. ‘You wish to die?’ ‘Not in the least. She drank her glass of wine, however, and clanked glasses good-naturedly with Mr. Now he courted with “servants” which he often killed afterward.
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