“Thank Heaven, they are bringing the hors d’oeuvres. And, stretching out his hand, he lifted the dark object from the flood. A slow anger burned in the man. “I hope you will not compel me to say again that I do not know the man’s name, nor, to the best of my belief, have I ever seen him before in my life. He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety.
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