“I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. We'll try whether he'll get loose again. I knew where I would go next: Florence. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you. She became angry with herself. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing.
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