‘I am not French in the least, bête. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. . " "May I trust you?" hesitated Thames. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. His lawful wife; but nothing more; beyond that she was only an idea, a trust. And, in applying the term to his friend, Thames meant to pay him a high compliment. And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons.
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