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Book, page 281 / 370 seemed to belong to human life, not to show and shut-upedness. The host was happy showing it. "Of course the flat in Paris is more luxurious than this," he said. "But I prefer this. I prefer it here." There was a certain wistfulness as he looked round, then began to switch off the lights. They returned to the little salotta. The Marchesa was seated in a low chair. She wore a very thin white blouse, that showed her arms and her throat. She was a full-breasted, soft-skinned woman, though not stout. "Make the cocktails then, Manfredi," she said. "Do you find this room very cold?" she asked of Aaron. "Not a bit cold," he said. "The stove goes all the time," she said, "but without much effect." "You wear such thin clothes," he said. "Ah, no, the stove should give heat enough. Do sit down. Will you smoke? There are cigarettes--and cigars, if you prefer them." "No, I've got my own, thanks." She took her own cigarette from her gold case. "It is a fine room, for music, the big room," said he. "Yes, quite. Would you like to play for us some time, do you think?" "Do you want me to? I mean does it interest you?" "What--the flute?" "No--music altogether--" "Music altogether--! Well! I used to love it. Now--I'm not sure. Manfredi lives for it, almost."
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