She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. . A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing. ’ ‘Now you come to mention it, it is stupid,’ Gerald said, struck.
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