After some time, the scuffle grew more and more distant, until nothing could be heard. “If you attempted such a thing it would be in order that I should smack you hard with the palm of my hand upon the cheek. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. “Shari told me. A shaft of searing heat plunged downward. This time he couldn't get far.
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