’ Gerald frowned in an effort of memory, and then laughed as he recalled one of the lies she had invented for his benefit. She was definitely following him. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. ‘To go to these Charvill, it was not in my plot. What need had she of Gerald, or anyone? Yet, if he was here, would he not make some foolish game with her and make her laugh? Instead of behaving in this fashion so stupide, and crying, crying, crying. \"Those look heavy. “Come,” he said, “this is capital, capital. " "I'll bet she still smells to heaven with sour coconut. This was the bitterest hour he had ever known. I am going to smoke a little here, and then I shall go to the study.
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