“Thank you,” he said, “for letting me back. Apparently I’m not to exist yet. “You have forgotten. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth. It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance. I don't believe he is much past forty.
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