Her breath came fast in little sobbing pants. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. THIS, this glissade, would be damned scoundrelism. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. She walked through the office to the door, aimlessly. I want to give you time to think. ’ The snaking suspicion rolled through his mind again. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. "There won't be much left for you," he said. It was cheating, pitiful cheating.
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