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” “There is so much I have not told you, John. His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre. He said that his life was boring and stupid without her. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. Not to go to her is wickeder than if I had run away with my friend's wife. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. ‘Oh, dearie me, I wish I’d never told you anything about it,’ lamented the nun, moving to the only chair the vestry possessed and sinking down into it.
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