“You’re still,” he said, “in the educational years. Nothing, in short, portable or valuable was left. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do was to pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats. That dress is thirty years old, if a day. She listened, her suspicions confirmed. His breath grew shallower as he approached the room, conscious of the loudness of his hallway-reverberated footfalls. She was about to rush to his side, when she saw his clenched hands rise and fall upon the sand repeatedly. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still.
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