She pulled her hand away quickly. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. Sure, I lose one occasionally—if he stays in New York. Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched her come in, I watched her go. I tried painting and couldn’t get on. “You’ll get me to allude to it, but you’d have to torture me to admit it. Wood could stand it no longer.
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