A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. Just what it means. "Nothing—nothing," she answered, bursting into tears. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love.
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