Get it off your soul. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. ’ ‘Gracious heaven, Gerald! If your dear mama could not drag you to the altar, I am hardly likely to succeed. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing.
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