Was there no echo anywhere in Miss Stanley’s pacified brain? Those empty rooms, if they were empty, were the equivalents of astoundingly decorated predecessors. Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. I forget the particulars, but I know it was something very disagreeable. I don’t know why that should be so acutely humiliating. There is no poison that would affect her. One keeps rules in order to be one’s self. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black.
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