‘Now what?’ The girl’s voice was shaking, and there were, he saw now, angry tears in her eyes. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. He looked at her in some embarrassment.
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