She began to read, and presently she entered another world, and remained in it for two hours. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. Gray and tranquil world! Amazing, passionless world! A world in which days without meaning, days in which “we don’t want things to happen” followed days without meaning—until the last thing happened, the ultimate, unavoidable, coarse, “disagreeable. "My friends need not fear my return. She must weigh her situation. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless.
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