"I can't say I do," replied Wood. I was worried. In her usual style, she interviewed him for his life and was pleased that he liked nothing more than to talk about himself. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. I wish nothing at all from them.
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