go. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. She yielded it without protest, as though unconsciously. “Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna.
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