“So how about this Friday?” He asked. I was stupid—stupid and impulsive beyond measure to burst upon you in this way. The inn was a military haunt. He seemed resigned but cheerful, and held frequent and serious discourses with the ordinary, who felt satisfied of his sincere penitence. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger.
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