“I first saw you crossing the river Arno, after a spring rain had spoiled the day for everyone except the ducks. ‘Now,’ she said, in an imperious manner that so much reminded him of Melusine that he was obliged to suppress a grin, ‘I can see you properly. Of course I know nothing of what really did happen in Paris—if even you ever saw him there. Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. She was tempted to touch him in the car as they drove to the empty house, but she refrained for fear of causing a car accident. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life.
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