Let us part in peace. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness.
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