In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. We’ll have some buttered toast. 132 “I thought you wanted me—you told me so when we kissed in the park!” He cried. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding.
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