" The Wastrel laughed. ” She spoke like a mistress addressing school-children. To return was impossible,—to raise himself certain destruction. Jonathan's threats are not to be sneezed at. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. Was there no echo anywhere in Miss Stanley’s pacified brain? Those empty rooms, if they were empty, were the equivalents of astoundingly decorated predecessors.
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