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She had but to choose. “I wish that I could forget it,” he said. ” She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. His slightest move caused her infinite pleasure. The stranger concluded he could not be far from his destination, and a turn in the road showed him the house. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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