” “The real, identical other,” said Capes, and took and bit the tip of her little finger. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. They say it hasn't been opened for eight years—but I won't be eight years in getting out of it. ’ She spread her hands.
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