The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. You think you love this other man! No doubt you do love him. ‘Eh bien, Eugénie. I’m sorry Lucy. “I am a fool,” he said. But a total stranger, a man you never saw twentyfour hours ago! It can't be thought of. He made it brief.
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