The psychic vibration of him thickened the air of the room as if he were already inside. It is no good arguing about a thing like that. Then he got up and left her. " "Ah! Sometimes I wonder I don't run amok and kill someone," said the Wastrel, in broken English. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger.
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