Somehow to-night—I don’t know. . Perhaps there were experiences she would never confide to any man. Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think. He heard the woman talking again. She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste. They will claim particular attention hereafter. She saw marks in the dirt where he had been pacing. I took the usual way home.
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