He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. F. After all, life had still its pulsations. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come.
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