So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly hear. Later, she understood his reasons; and it had now become habit. He hadn't followed this angle of thought in ten years: what he might have been, with a little shrewd selfishness. “You cannot! Oh, you cannot. I’ve got to have you, and by God I will. ” “Where is your husband?” Anna asked. “Sure, I guess so.
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