“You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. God only knows what I have done, or left undone. He left his office at 5:39 according to her watch. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. He stood up abruptly and went to the window.
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