The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. “I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a fool of himself. She was alone with a deadly enemy. The by now familiar dramatic sigh came. She had not even endorsed it. I spent many happy days there.
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