They even talked about friendship. It’s got to be at last like tobacco-ash over all my sayings and doings. They used the rope—not that a rope was at all necessary, but because Ann Veronica’s exalted state of mind made the fact of the rope agreeably symbolical; and, anyhow, it did insure a joint death in the event of some remotely possibly mischance. Perhaps that other boy who visited you backstage at the concert. Not that it would make any difference if he was alive still. But these fears, like those he had recently experienced, speedily vanished, and he prepared to return to the roof, congratulating himself that owing to the opportune falling of the bricks, he had in all probability escaped serious injury. He threw her on the bed. His age was not far from fifty. There was so much to see, so much to do, that he became what he had once been normally, a lovable boy.
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