Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. Two women entered and sat down at the adjoining table. It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood the game—both of us.
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