She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill. “My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. You have the ideas. And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety. “In the end,” it seemed to be thinking, “they embalmed me with the utmost respect—sound spices chosen to endure—the best! I took my world as I found it. "One of us has got to die," he panted.
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