She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. “You propose, then,” she remarked, “that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. ’ Triumph soared in Gerald’s chest. She felt sticky and ashamed when he dropped her off a block away from the McCloskey house as she had requested.
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