The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. He seized a tray, squatted on the floor, and imitated the tom-tom. Section 1. Give me but leave to try. I can bear anything but suspense. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. We dressed it in a little music.
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