. ’ Gerald knew the caress in his voice was a trifle ironic. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel. . She helped him take it off. . '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. From this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of Dollis Hill. Whatever you need to do, it is your business.
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