If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. They had been so considerate of the earth they had touched that they barely left a footprint. “I don’t want children, Lucy. I didn’t know. He kissed her again. ” He sat for a moment, absorbing.
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