“You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. She was a merry creature, it is true, and quite beautiful. The door closed upon her, and he moved reluctantly away. Homosexuals weren’t looked too kindly upon in their exclusive suburban neighborhood, not even dashing handsome ones. ‘But you will not be in a convent. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. I have one shilling and sevenpence halfpenny left. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. “I don’t believe there is one. She lay and nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron. Is all your house on the same scale of magnificence as this, Annabel?” she asked, looking round.
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