So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. She awoke and found herself home amid a pile of three bodies, one of which she recognized as a former denizen of the household. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. She shook them off of one foot. But no; she must step warily. “Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt.
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