“Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. ‘What else do you expect? It’s the penalty you pay for marrying an Englishman. “I don’t think I shall.
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