But when she turned her thoughts to Morningside Park she perceived the tangled skein of life was now to be further complicated by his romantic importunity. “I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury. “What have I done, Miss Pellissier?” he pleaded. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not.
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