If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. In some incomprehensible way that back view made her feel sorry for Alice.
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