Gianfrancesco became agitated. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. Traci was the most grateful, because he stopped his sexual advances. She had no idea what she should do. The doctor expected her to seize upon the subtle inference that there was something furtive, even criminal, in the manner the patient set this obligation upon humanity at large, to look after him in the event of his death. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. Here she seems to have developed into a brilliant woman with more character and steadfastness than I should ever have given her credit for. Contrasted with the confused movement and presences of a Fabian meeting, or the inexplicable enthusiasm behind the suffrage demand, with the speeches that were partly egotistical displays, partly artful manoeuvres, and partly incoherent cries for unsoundly formulated ends, compared with the comings and goings of audiences and supporters that were like the eddy-driven drift of paper in the street, this long, quiet, methodical chamber shone like a star seen through clouds.
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