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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 300 pages of information about The Age of Innocence.

After breakfast he smoked a cigarette and glanced over the Commercial Advertiser.  While he was thus engaged two or three men he knew came in, and the usual greetings were exchanged:  it was the same world after all, though he had such a queer sense of having slipped through the meshes of time and space.

He looked at his watch, and finding that it was half-past nine got up and went into the writing-room.  There he wrote a few lines, and ordered a messenger to take a cab to the Parker House and wait for the answer.  He then sat down behind another newspaper and tried to calculate how long it would take a cab to get to the Parker House.

“The lady was out, sir,” he suddenly heard a waiter’s voice at his elbow; and he stammered:  “Out?—­” as if it were a word in a strange language.

He got up and went into the hall.  It must be a mistake:  she could not be out at that hour.  He flushed with anger at his own stupidity:  why had he not sent the note as soon as he arrived?

He found his hat and stick and went forth into the street.  The city had suddenly become as strange and vast and empty as if he were a traveller from distant lands.  For a moment he stood on the door-step hesitating; then he decided to go to the Parker House.  What if the messenger had been misinformed, and she were still there?

He started to walk across the Common; and on the first bench, under a tree, he saw her sitting.  She had a grey silk sunshade over her head—­how could he ever have imagined her with a pink one?  As he approached he was struck by her listless attitude:  she sat there as if she had nothing else to do.  He saw her drooping profile, and the knot of hair fastened low in the neck under her dark hat, and the long wrinkled glove on the hand that held the sunshade.  He came a step or two nearer, and she turned and looked at him.

“Oh”—­she said; and for the first time he noticed a startled look on her face; but in another moment it gave way to a slow smile of wonder and contentment.

“Oh”—­she murmured again, on a different note, as he stood looking down at her; and without rising she made a place for him on the bench.

“I’m here on business—­just got here,” Archer explained; and, without knowing why, he suddenly began to feign astonishment at seeing her.  “But what on earth are you doing in this wilderness?” He had really no idea what he was saying:  he felt as if he were shouting at her across endless distances, and she might vanish again before he could overtake her.

“I?  Oh, I’m here on business too,” she answered, turning her head toward him so that they were face to face.  The words hardly reached him:  he was aware only of her voice, and of the startling fact that not an echo of it had remained in his memory.  He had not even remembered that it was low-pitched, with a faint roughness on the consonants.

“You do your hair differently,” he said, his heart beating as if he had uttered something irrevocable.

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