When she judged that she must be nearly back at the library, she began to feel somewhat dispirited. “Turned out to be an impostor, too. She drank her glass of wine, however, and clanked glasses good-naturedly with Mr. He hadn't followed this angle of thought in ten years: what he might have been, with a little shrewd selfishness. She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. I know there’s a sort of right in your impatience at the slowness of Progress.
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