He turned in at the club. Pause. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. “Our ways happened to lie together. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. E. It was just such a bedroom as she would have chosen for herself.
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