She wanted to live. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. "Good-b'ye!" And with a cordial shake of the hand he took his departure. She wondered what the problem was, why the buildup? She wanted to go to his apartment that evening but stayed herself. I put your clothes out an hour ago.
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