She looked up quickly. ‘I don’t propose doing anything with you. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames.
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