The men have never had so much work to do since they banded. Better come another morning. She was quite the rage, in a small way, you know. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself.
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