But no more of that. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. " Animated by this trifling success, he proceeded with fresh ardour, and the rapidity of his progress was proclaimed by the heap of bricks, stones, and mortar which before long covered the floor. "Clean and spotless, but beginning to show the wear and tear of constant use. " Mr. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. Gerald at once lowered his voice to that intimate level again, and leaned towards her.
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