He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. “Can you give me any information as to this affair?” he asked. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. I have nothing, nothing that can possibly be passion for you. But at the same time, I must say plainly that I think your presence here just now would be a great misfortune.
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