But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff. Wood, severely, "and go to bed. Meantime, every preparation had been made outside for his departure. But you belong to me—and I want you. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay.
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