“For one thing, Anna,” she remarked, “we had not the slightest idea that you had left, or were leaving Paris. Everybody looked askance at everybody else. He was now almost driven to despair. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. The chamber, into which he stole, like all carpenters' workshops, was crowded with the implements and materials of that ancient and honourable art.
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