” She took his hand, interrupting him. “She has been to my flat before. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. It’s a damned hard thing to do.
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