The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing. “It’s funny, the way a good house feels. She looked about and discovered a door partially hidden by shadow. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. I have no right to love you. I shall lose my fees and the laced coat.
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