Life is two things, that’s how I see it; two things mixed and muddled up together. She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps. He seemed to avoid meeting Anna’s eyes as much as possible. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. "Quilt Arnold, is that you?" "It is, Sir," sputtered the janizary. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. And all this time perhaps you have been waiting, expecting to hear from me.
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