She was frightfully hungry. The fresh air, which blew in his face, greatly revived him. She had slept badly at first in a long chair next to the fire waiting for him to return, but caught on after that. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. He was normal now, and the coat was only a coat. Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines.
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