Later that night, after she had cleaned herself and changed her clothes, he returned. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. She sighed with relief. He noticed the two chairs close together. Nothing to check their proceedings but a declining habit of telling the truth and the limitations of their imaginations. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip.
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