“I got Sydney’s telegram at ten o’clock, and caught the ten-thirty from the Gare du Nord. The music confused and distracted her, and made her struggle against a feeling of intoxication. I asked him—to take me away. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. “To begin with, I was—I was in the divorce court. “What do you mean?” she asked. Jack's nose was broad and flat; Darrell's straight and fine as that of Antinous.
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