Everybody seemed greatly concerned about the sincerity of Tolstoy. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. To witness this girl sewing on a loose button, flopping the coat about on her knees, tickled his ironic sense of humour; and laughter bubbled into his throat. This is her first adventure. Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds. I don't have a phone in my room.
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