That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. The Ragged Edge. “Annabel,” she said, “I have never asked you for your confidence. ‘If ever I met such a pair of lunatics!’ ‘Give me that, Hilary,’ Gerald said at once, ignoring his remark and reaching out for the handkerchief. There were no mourners. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. “I think we are growing sensible,” he said.
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