‘I wish you joy of the wench. You will never be happy with this hanging over you. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not. " "God forbid!" exclaimed Wood, fervently; and, as if afraid of prolonging the interview, he added, with some precipitation, "But I must be going: I've stayed here too long already. Now, will you do me the honour of lunching with me, Miss Pellissier?” Anna hesitated.
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