It makes no difference. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return. She had to resist an impulse of sheer terror, to run out after them and give in. Over here a man quickly loses faith, and I find myself back on solid ground once more. Presently the odour of burnt powder mingled agreeably with that of the incense. I have suffered—I have sinned—I have repented. “It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy.
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