“Dear John,” she whispered. Langley is getting up, and coming this way. He looked just as Julian had the night she had first met him outside the Joliet Laundromat. It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat. He recalled with exasperating perplexity her clear, matter-of-fact tone as she talked about love-making being unconvincing. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. Adieu!" And, snatching a hasty kiss, he darted after Jack.
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