“Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. Anna thrust hers into her pocket unopened, and for the first time left the house without a smile upon her face. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. "You know my fixed determination," he added in a low tone, as he passed the carpenter.
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