But he dismissed that because then she would ask her lover and not him all these things. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures and little things that he had said. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. Gone were the old days where an old maid banged on an upright piano above a roaring crowd, this sound was loud enough to be heard outside the building, she thought to herself as her eardrums throbbed. He lit a cigarette and loitered about. Luckily, they were not easily discomposed.
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