The light disappeared. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. "I haven't offended you?"—not contritely but curiously. . ’ ‘Some of them more pleasurable than others, I take it. She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account.
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