“How are you?” He asked, realizing she was unnerved by the very sound of his voice. She slipped it calmly into her pocket. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. Or I should have made love to you long ago. Trenchard was tempted to examine the contents of some of these cases, but a closer inspection made him recoil from them in disgust.
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