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“But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. One of your aunts died, I believe, and the other removed to London. ’ ‘Your husband?’ Gerald tutted. He glanced up. ‘I can’t do that. CHAPTER XVII. She thought of the marvellous beauty of skin, and all the delightfulness of living texture. She bounced onto her bottom. She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. “It is nothing of any importance. ” “I am very glad,” he answered, in a low tone. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine.
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