Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. She winked at him as he shut the door. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell. I never saw a man who wasn't. You did not say a word about it last week, nor have you written.
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