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Her husband, as she paused to look in at his door, greeted her: "Had a good time?" She could not answer. He yawned, delicately. He was seated at his mirror, arranging his wringing wet permanent in serried rows by means of tiny combs. "Gooooo oooo oo d night," he said. That was all. Yet she was kinda mad. A footle, twaddly love affair! No art. A silly little dumpling smattering with a brute beast.
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