They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone. Marry me. I will not talk to you about Miss Pellissier or her affairs. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. ‘But don’t let me stop you from going to see Charvill.
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