‘Precisely,’ agreed Gerald. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. Passing thought. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. The preparations to meet him were immense, roses were planted everywhere, white and drooping with honeyed fragrance. A black-garbed young lad leapt out and let down the steps. "If you mean to accompany us, you may need it. But she doesn’t and won’t divorce me.
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