The Old Mint. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. He now tells her that she is free, no longer a slave. ‘I said you were sympathique,’ she told him. “Are there others like you?” “Yes. ” “It is ironic that you say that, John, for it is I who am afraid of you.
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