“My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. She had mentioned the address where she and her sister had lived. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers. It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do.
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