The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. Then abruptly Mr. “I’m fine,” she said softly. He, next, tried to clamber up the flying buttresses and soffits of the pier, in the hope of reaching some of the windows and other apertures with which, as a man-of-war is studded with port-holes, the sides of the bridge were pierced. I would not have him know—now—for the world. Set yourself to find it out, if you will—but if you do, never dare to call yourself my friend again.
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