” “You can’t be killed?” He asked. His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. “His love-making,” she remarked, “struck me as unconvincing. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill.
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