She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. He even hugged her a few times, something he had never done. I have written, called—of what avail is anything—against that look. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his.
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