A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. “Tut, tut!” he said. It seemed to her at this moment that there was nothing left for her to do. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. Daily contact with actual human beings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative. I don’t play anything. .
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