You must forgive the poet’s license I take. If not, I have plenty to think about,” she answered, leaning back in her chair, and watching the smoke from her own cigarette curl upwards. He knew very well that his muscles were flabby, and his nerve by no means what it should be. She crept out of the shadows. His attraction for her was now written plainly on his freckled face, revealed by the many drinks he had imbibed. “When you loosen the tangle in one place you tie a knot in another.
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