” “How?” He asked. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. ” “Why did you tell me? I thought—I thought we were going to be friends. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. Never. It isn’t just one among a number of important things; for her it is the important thing, and until she knows far more than I know of the facts of life, how is she to undertake it? So please; if you will, forget that you wrote that letter, and forgive this answer. "You hesitate—you are deceiving me. I wish that it worked. Only the night before, in the dining room of the Hong-Kong Hotel, she had watched him empty glass after glass of whisky, and shudder and shudder.
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