The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. I don’t want to Bowdlerize Shakespeare. And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. The affair passed at one leap from a spree to a nightmare of violence and disgust. "More slang," he said. I have just come from him. . They blinded me.
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